


Jesus is Watching Over You.

by Carry_On_Destiel



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Daryl, Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bad Decisions, Canon-Typical Violence, Daryl Has Issues, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, Friendship, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Oral Sex, Past Child Abuse, Post-Coital Cuddling, Slow Build, To Be Continued(?)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-05-23 02:51:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6102391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carry_On_Destiel/pseuds/Carry_On_Destiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> ~This time, when Daryl realized he was falling for the younger man, he hadn't fought it so hard. This time the archer wasn't going to miss his opportunity because he was too damn scared or too deep in denial. Not that he had handled it perfectly, by any means, but when Daryl thought back to Jesus's mouth pressed against his, he knew he wasn't going to give up. Not this time.~ </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Depending on what happens during the premiere (IN 3 DAYS AHHH) I may decide to continue writing this fic. If the worst should happen, I may be too devastated...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get awkward when Jesus walks in on Daryl's "me time".

 "Yes...Mmm Jesus.. Fuck yes..." Daryl bit down on his lip, fist moving quickly up and down his hard shaft. The hunter's head fell back limply as he pumped faster, imagining stormy blue eyes gazing into his own, "Jesus, Rick!"  
  


"So who would you prefer; me or Rick?"  
  


Daryl's eyes snapped open, hand shot out to grasp the gun on his nightstand but it was gone. Of course. Paul "Jesus" Rovia was twirling the weapon idly on his finger, an infuriating smirk playing around his lips. 

"The fuck you doin' in here?" the hunter hissed

"Well I'd hoped to make a proposal - I didn't intend to interrupt... Although I'm not entirely sorry I did..." his gaze trailed down Daryl's body suggestively before Jesus tossed Daryl's gun onto the bed with a casual wink that made the hunter blush harder than ever.

"What proposal?" he snarled, yanking his jeans up awkwardly. 

"You and I, getting to know each other better." Jesus responded sincerely, "I feel as though we got off on the wrong foot and I'd like to make it up to you."  

"By breaking into my house and watching me.. when I'm... busy?"

Blue eyes twinkled in the evening light, "I'm sorry Daryl, I heard my name." The bearded man's voice was pure honeyed innocence, those full lips twitching with barely concealed mirth.  
  
Daryl snorted, his embarrassment fading, quickly replaced by annoyance and, despite himself, amusement. "Well, I won't be making that mistake again." the bowman promised, holstering his gun and pulling on his familiar vest, "So how d'you suggest we 'get to know each other'? Y'wanna braid each other's hair?"

Jesus cocked his head, smiling brightly, "Sure!"

Daryl snorted again, "Fuck off."

"It was your idea." Another impish grin.

Fuck this guy, Daryl thought. Fuck his twinkly blue eyes and his "clean" beard. Fuck his cocky charm and his insane fighting skills. Fuck his cat-like stealth. And, especially, fuck his ability to wring a smile out of the irate archer. Daryl tossed a deck of cards at the younger man, rather harder than necessary.

"Texas Hold'em. You wanna smoke?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since their awkward poker night, Daryl finds himself with a blue-eyed shadow. The hunter grudgingly begins to appreciate the Hilltop ambassador's company.

Daryl habitually reached for his missing crossbow as Jesus appeared in the munitions locker. The younger man's hat was off and he had forgone his heavy leather coat; he looked much more approachable and vulnerable without his signature garb. Daryl didn't like it. It was better when he had looked suspicious and formidable, it was easier to dislike him. Now he was all youthful enthusiasm, quick smiles and innocent blue eyes - it was fucking irritating.

"Why're you always around?" the archer grumbled, returning to breaking down and cleaning various firearms. He wanted them in perfect working condition when they launched their assault on the Saviors, a jammed weapon could cost lives.  
  
As always, Jesus took no offense at Daryl's brusque tone, instead dropping into the seat next to him and surveying the dismantled guns laid out in sections for cleaning and reassembly with an interested expression. "Just dropped by to see you. That's a lot of guns to clean, do you need any help?"  
  
Daryl frowned over the firing pin he was oiling, "Nah, I got it - don't wanna get any parts mixed up."  
  
Jesus paused over the tiny trigger spring he was reaching for and dropped his hand into his lap, looking a little guilty, "Ah. That makes sense... Sorry." then he reached into the leather messenger bag at his side and drew out something shiny and bright purple. "Here, I brought you this."  
  
Daryl eyed the can of grape soda suspiciously, "Why..?"  
  
"Well the day we met, you were trying to break into an old vending machine and later you seemed pretty upset when I broke the soda can in your bag. I tried to find orange but..." the words tumbled out in a nervous rush, "Anyway, I hope you like grape - I'm sorry about before."  
  
Daryl looked from the sweating can in Jesus' palm to his sky blue eyes, wiping his fingers clean on a rag, unable to place the odd sensation spreading through his chest. "Uh, thanks. But you should give that to Denise - the doctor lady - she made a special request, that's why I wanted the soda that day."  
  
"Oh." Jesus frowned, "So - so you don't like soda?"  
  
"I c'n take it or leave it, I guess. Its not really practical these days." the hunter replied vaguely, running a slim wire brush inside a gun barrel, "Denise doesn't drink the stuff either, though."  
  
"Wait, so you don't drink it and she doesn't drink it but you risked your life to get it, on special request from her...why?" Jesus' nose scrunched up in puzzlement. It didn't look adorable at all. It didn't.  
  
"Denise wanted it as a gift. For her girlfriend." Daryl bit back a smirk as the younger man's eyes went wide with realization; not even an apocalypse could eliminate the allure of _lesbians_ for guys. Most guys, anyway.  
  
"That's... that's really sweet." Jesus said softly, looking at the can in his hands, "And it was really great of you to go to so much trouble for her, Daryl."  
  
Daryl ducked his head, shrugging "Weren't much. Denise saved Carl's life. An' Tara is good people, she'd a done the same for me." the archer finished reassembling the glock he'd been cleaning and set it to one side.  
  
"Then you should give this to Denise. It won't mean anything coming from me - you're the one who did all of the work." Jesus thrust the can into Daryl's free hand and stood up looking uncomfortable.  
  
"Um sure. You leavin'?" Daryl faced Jesus head on for the first time since he arrived, suddenly hoping he would stay. He wouldn't admit it but Daryl was starting to enjoy the company, "I'll teach ya how to clean and put together a gun. If ya want."  
  
Jesus' face broke into a brilliant smile, "Of course, thanks Daryl!"  
  
He pulled his seat closer to the table, his knee pressing against Daryl's thigh as he sat down again. Daryl shifted slightly in his seat but didn't move away from the contact, instead he focused his attention on the Taurus revolver he was planning to reassemble next. It would have been best if Jesus could see how it came apart and then went back together but this would have to do. Daryl picked up the stripped frame of the weapon, careful not to jostle any of the springs or pins arranged meticulously around it and began to explain the intricate process of rebuilding a revolver. Each part was carefully cleaned; moving parts were checked for wear and then lubricated before they could begin reconstructing the gun. Jesus leaned in close, his hand draping across the back of Daryl's chair as he watched Daryl fit together the small metal parts.  
  
"Wow, this is pretty impressive. Where did you learn to do this?" Jesus asked quietly, his hair tickling Daryl's exposed shoulder.  
  
"M'brother, I guess. Guns were one thing we never ran short of growin' up, so Merle an' me figured out how to use 'em pretty young." Daryl shrugged, feeling Jesus' long hair slide down his arm as he did. "First time we pulled one apart, we lost half the pieces 'n put the rest of 'em back together all wrong. Pa was pissed. We both took a dirty lickin' fer that one." Daryl smiled a little sadly at the memory, remembering how Merle had tried to take all the blame.  
  
"Sounds like you miss him." Jesus caught Daryl in that bright gaze, his expression solemn but not pitying.  
  
"He was a real nasty sumbitch, most times... but he was my brother and I don't know if I'd be alive if it weren't for him." Daryl's voice wavered slightly but didn't break.  
  
Jesus laid his hand gently on Daryl's shoulder, conscious of the scars that were barely noticeable under his winged vest. "The people we love aren't always perfect... I guess that's why they can hurt us the most."  
  
Daryl nodded silently, focusing on the task in front of him. He knew that Jesus was referring to Merle but he couldn't shake the image of Rick's hand on Michonne's knee and the subtle, intimate touches they often shared whenever they were together. The hunter knew he had no right to feel this way; Rick had never been his to claim in the first place. But that didn't stop his heart from aching whenever he saw them together. Or when he and Rick were alone... Or pretty much always. It felt like a boa constrictor was trying to crush the air from his lungs and every breath was one closer to his last. Daryl expected Jesus to speak again, to ask more questions or try to comfort him over his broken childhood but he simply let his hand fall onto the back of Daryl's chair again. Daryl finished with the revolver, snapping the cylinder into place and staring down the sight, satisfied that it was ready for action.  
  
There were three weapons left to reassemble and Daryl patiently walked Jesus through each step, sometimes fitting pieces together then taking them apart again so that the other man could practice. By the last gun, Jesus had caught on and only needed minor assistance as he carefully fitted each piece of a Beretta 87 together. It took much longer than it had taken Daryl but finally he got the slide into place and slapped the magazine in triumphantly.  
  
"Hey! I got it!" he crowed excitedly, holding the weapon out for Daryl's appraisal, "Did I miss anything?"  
  
Daryl accepted the small handgun, his fingers grazing over Jesus' knuckles as he took it. He turned it over once, drew back the slide then cocked it and sighted along the barrel. It looked to be in perfect working condition and Daryl nodded reassuringly as he handed it back.  
  
"You did good. Oughta be ready for a fight." Daryl grinned, his mood lifting at the other man's elation. "But I think we missed dinner - looks pretty dark out there."  
  
"Oh," Jesus glanced out the window in surprise, "I didn't realize it took so long."  
  
"Normally it doesn't." Daryl joked as he stood up and pressed his palms into his lower back, stretching out the kinks and groaning as it popped repeatedly.  
  
Jesus cocked an eyebrow, a pleased smile playing on his lips, "Sorry to be an inconvenience, Daryl. But I appreciate the lesson all the same."  
  
"Don't mention it. 'Sides, I got a drink and some bars left in my room if yer hungry." Daryl offered, as he replaced all the guns in their designated shelves and drawers.  
  
"I actually am pretty hungry," Jesus admitted, "but you're probably getting sick of me hanging around by now."  
  
"S'pose another hour or so won't kill me." muttered Daryl, realizing that this was the second time today he was trying to convince the younger man to stay with him. Usually Daryl couldn't wait to get away from people at the end of a long day, but somehow spending time with Jesus didn't take as much effort. He didn't feel drained and irritable after talking to him - Jesus reminded the hunter of Rick in that sense. Daryl could spend all day cooped up in a car listening to Rick sing along to awful country music and still want to hang out with him when they got back home. It was a very rare quality that Daryl had never expected to encounter again. But Jesus was always managing the unexpected, wasn't he?   
  
"Alright, if you're sure. Maybe we could play another round?" Jesus replied hopefully, "Pretty sure I'll win this time - I've almost got you figured out, Daryl Dixon."  
  
"You think so, hey?" Daryl challenged, nudging him out the door and locking it behind him, "Why don't y' put your money where yer mouth is?"  
  
"Money isn't really an accepted legal tender these days, what's the wager?" Jesus elbowed Daryl back with a grin, his eyes bright in the darkened street.  
  
Daryl thought for a moment "I need a new pair of socks."  
  
"You want my socks?" Jesus snorted incredulously.  
  
"I'd take your jacket but I wouldn't have fit in that since I was fourteen." Daryl teased as they strolled off toward his house on the corner, exchanging well-meaning insults.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get awkward again. And sort of smutty. And then really awkward.

Daryl was drifting in that hazy space between sleep and waking, vaguely aware that he was warm and possibly more comfortable than he'd ever been in his life. The hunter nuzzled into his pillow, unwilling to open his eyes just yet, chasing the elusive snatches of a half-forgotten dream. _A white-gold deer flickering through a still forest, a flash of blazing blue eyes, a feeling of total contentment._ Daryl allowed himself a small smile against the cotton pressed to his face. His pillow felt firmer than usual, like he had folded it over in his sleep and tucked it under his neck. Have to remember to do that again, the archer mused lazily; he couldn't remember the last time he had woken up without a knot between his shoulder blades.  
  
A few languorous moments passed before the hunter became aware that something was off. He felt that vague prickle across the back of his neck, the sensation of being watched. Reluctantly, he allowed one eye to slit open and was greeted by a flicker of purest blue. Daryl scrambled halfway upright, his right fist lashing out instinctively at the same moment as last night's events came flooding back to him. _Jesus._ The bearded man raised his left forearm looking perfectly unruffled, blocking Daryl's wild blow as casually as he might brush away a curious fly.  
  
"Good morning, Daryl." His voice was faintly raspy from disuse but rich with amusement, "I hope you slept well."  
  
Jesus was sprawled out on top of the covers, his right arm outstretched, thin white cotton bunched around his elbow. Daryl stared, the tension was draining slowly from his muscles but his heart was racing much too fast and a peculiar heat was dancing in his belly, spreading outward like a wave. The hunter squirmed, uncomfortably aware that it was morning and his body was responding accordingly. Jesus smiled, a sliver of gleaming white teeth drawing Daryl's attention to his lips. His soft, full lips; pink and slightly glossy as though he had just run his tongue across them. Daryl gave himself a mental shake, wrenching his eyes away and dragged his thoughts back to the present issue.  
  
"Y're in my bed." he heard himself mumble stupidly. _"Great job, dumbass,"_ he berated himself silently, feeling his face flush with embarrassment yet again.   
  
"Uh yeah..." the younger man's grin widened slightly, "I guess we fell asleep last night."  
  
Daryl barely heard him, he was distracted by the faint damp spot on Jesus' sleeve, just above his elbow. Drool. That was drool. _Daryl's drool._ The hunter unconsciously wiped at the corner of his mouth, completely humiliated and lost for words. The jumble of emotions quickly coalesced into anger because it was comfortable, familiar and safer than acknowledging the rest of his feelings right now.

"Nobody told y' to stay, why the fuck di'nt y' go back to your own room?" Daryl snapped, as he rolled to his feet glaring, studiously ignoring the flash of hurt in those ocean-deep eyes.  
  
"I would have," Jesus responded, his voice hard, "but you seemed pretty damn happy cuddling with my arm."  
  
"Did not -that's fuck'n bull- I was... You shut up! Fuck off!" Daryl spluttered angrily, ears flaming as he squared off, ready to slug this smirking asshole and throw him out on his ass.  
  
Jesus was on his feet in a blink, his posture loose yet somehow coiled dangerously tight, like a mountain lion perched on a ledge. Everything from his dismissive sneer to the slight twitch of his fingers warned Daryl to back off before he got his ass kicked. But like a fucking moron, he lunged forward, right fist aimed for that infuriating smirk, eager to wipe that smug look off of his stupid mouth. Jesus caught Daryl's wrist in an iron grip, spinning gracefully in the cramped space, twisting Daryl's arm around painfully and pinning it behind his back. Daryl knees buckled as the wiry fighter dug his nails into his wrist, a surge of agony lancing through his limbs, and suddenly he was on his knees, face-down on the bed, struggling helplessly against the inexplicable force that held him. Then without warning, the pressure was lifted and the pain was gone. Daryl got to his feet slowly; anger, relief and shame battling in his brain as he met that calm gaze.  
  
"Don't do that again, Daryl." Jesus warned quietly, dangerously, "I don't want to hurt you."  
  
Daryl's first instinct was to swear and threaten and throw another punch but the lingering ache in his wrist quickly tamed that urge. Daryl's shoulders sagged, the anger receding, leaving him weary and irritable. "Whatever. Jus' get your creepy ass outta my room, an' stay gone."  
  
Jesus watched the hunter sadly, his bright eyes darkening, "Sure, Daryl. If that's what you want, I won't bother you anymore."  
  
Then Jesus was gone with a soft click as the door closed behind him. Daryl sank onto the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands, instantly regretting his actions and his cruel words. The hunter sighed heavily as he flopped backwards, staring up at the ceiling but only seeing Jesus' face; those sparkling eyes going dim with hurt, his perpetual smile hardening into a grim line. _Dammit._ He groaned as he rolled over, the pillow flat and formless under his cheek, the bed colder and lonelier than ever. _Fuck._ Daryl sat up again, a tight ache in his chest not caused by an injury nor by the adrenaline of an unexpected fight. Then his eyes fell on the bright purple soda can on his table. _Shit._  
  
Daryl jumped to his feet, yanking his boots on as he tore open the door and rushed up the stairs, three at a time. He dashed to the front door, ignoring the greetings from Rick and Michonne as they puttered around the kitchen making breakfast for the kids. Daryl burst out onto the porch, searching the street frantically for any sign of Jesus' long brown hair and easy, loping stride but the streets were empty except for Eugene and Abraham who were gearing up for their patrol together. Daryl jogged over to the pair, trying to calm his breathing but it felt like he had run a mile rather than a few yards.  
  
"Hey, y'all seen Jesus?" He asked, trying for casual nonchalance.  
  
"If you're referring to the Christ-child, then no I have not. If you mean that new fellow from the hilltop, then I also have not." Eugene replied, helpfully.  
  
Abraham squinted at Daryl, "What's got your jimmies rustled? That hippy feller better not've skipped town on us."  
  
"Nah, s'nothin' like that, I was just s'posed to get him for a recon meeting with Rick. Might take a trip to visit these 'Saviors', see what we c'n see." Daryl lied quickly, already edging away from the odd pair.  
  
Daryl crossed the street purposefully, letting himself into the empty house they had used as a makeshift prison for both Morgan and Jesus - not that it had proven very effective. He slipped quietly through the darkened hallway coming to an abrupt halt as he spotted Jesus in the first bedroom. He was wearing his black trenchcoat again, his expression guarded as he pulled on his gloves. Daryl stood in the doorway, words caught in his throat but knowing he had to say something because he had to fix this, he couldn't just let him leave.  
  
"Jesus, look-" Daryl started.  
  
"Don't worry about it, Daryl." Jesus cut in, "I made you uncomfortable this morning and I'm sorry. I guess I was just happy to have a friend.. A real friend, not someone who was relying on me or using me for mutual gain. Just someone who I could talk to."  
  
"No, _I'm_ sorry. I was an asshole, I shouldn'ta tried to hit you." Daryl blurted, "I was just- y'know.. stupid. Mad. I dunno."  
  
"Embarrassed?" Jesus suggested, a little bit of that twinkle returning to his eyes, even though his expression remained perfectly composed.  
  
"Yeah, okay?" Daryl admitted, shuffling his feet, "I ain't ever woke up in bed with a man b'fore. Can't believe I fuckin' fell asleep on your damn arm."  
  
Finally a smile cracked through that neutral mask, "You're cute when you're sleeping, Daryl."  
  
"Shut up!" Daryl snapped, his face hot but grinning all the same.  
  
"Okay, I'm sorry." Jesus smirked, closing the distance between them in two long strides, "Its true though."  
  
"M'not cute." Daryl mumbled, nervous again and keenly aware of how close Jesus was standing, "Ain't nobody ever thought I was cute. M'just a dirty redneck."  
  
"I think you're cute." Jesus whispered and then he leaned forward the last few inches, barely brushing his lips against Daryl's shocked mouth.  
  
Daryl froze at the subtle graze, his mouth falling open in surprise. Jesus drew back quickly, eyes wary, as though anticipating another blow. Daryl took a deep breath then, before he could talk himself out it, grabbed Jesus by the wrist and pulled.

Jesus crashed into Daryl's chest, their mouths meeting in a desperate collision of _want._ Jesus whimpered against Daryl's mouth, his lips parting slightly and the hunter pressed forward eagerly, licking into the younger man's heat. God his lips were soft and wet and warm... They tasted better than Daryl could ever have imagined. Daryl felt himself grinning stupidly as that beard tickled his lips and chin but he refused to break the kiss. The hunter's hands caught lean hips, gripping tightly as he pressed Jesus back against the door frame, blind instinct and need banishing all cognizant thought.  
  
"Oh fuck.. Fuck yes- yes fuck-nng Christ!"  
  
The sounds Jesus was making; soft stuttery moans, as Daryl's hips jerked rhythmically, grinding him against the wooden frame, were driving the hunter mad with arousal. Each thrust was aligned perfectly, rubbing their quickly hardening cocks together through their clothes. Too many fuckin' clothes. Daryl shoved the heavy leather coat from Jesus' narrow shoulders, letting it _flump_ onto the dusty floor.  
  
"Fuck, I want you Daryl.." Jesus murmured, drawing back to catch Daryl's eye. He raised a gloved finger to his lips. Biting down on the leather, he pulled the glove off slowly, letting it fall; apparently unaware that the sight had short-circuited Daryl's brain, "I want to taste you everywhere, Daryl Dixon."  
  
The other glove dropped just as Daryl lunged to recapture that pretty mouth, and the pair stumbled awkwardly away from the door, falling heavily onto the thin mattress on the floor. Daryl's groan was part pleasure, part pain as his entire body ached with the landing but he barely spared it a thought before Jesus had straddled his lap, laughing against Daryl's mouth, grinding on Daryl's cock. The hunter grasped at the younger man's flimsy cotton shirt, dimly planning to tear it in half so that he could taste that bare, pale skin... but before he could get a proper grip the front door burst open and Abraham appeared like a thunderbolt.  
  
The massive ginger juggernaut charged, tackling Jesus, wrenching him off of Daryl's lap and hefting him bodily against the wall. Jesus flailed in surprise, trying to break the grip on his throat but Eugene appeared, rifle aimed rather unsteadily at Jesus' head.  
  
"I would advise you to stay put, Mr Jesus. I don't much want to kill you but I will surely do so if you necessitate the action."  
  
"What in the mother-lovin' shit is goin' on in here anyway?" Abraham barked, his grip relaxing enough to allow a response.  
  
"Its not what you think-" Jesus wheezed, his blue eyes alarmed as he stared down the barrel of Eugene's gun.  
  
"Sure as shit looked like somethin'! Daryl, you alright?" Abraham interrupted, looking to Daryl for confirmation as the hunter clambered to his feet, still aching a bit from their enthusiastic tumble.  
  
"Fuckin' hell Abe, of course 'm alright. We weren't fighting." Daryl felt his face flame again, certain that they must feel the heat of it from across the room.  
  
"If y' weren't fightin' then how come you were on the floor wrasslin'- Oh!" Abe's face turned as red as his hair as realization struck, "Well Hell's bells, ain't that somethin?"  
  
"What's something, I do not understand." Eugene lowered his gun, peering from face to face in confusion.  
  
"C'mon Eugene, we got a patrol duty to fulfill." Abraham grabbed Eugene by the collar, dragging him from the room hastily, "We'll leave you fellas to it, don't mind us."  
  
The door slammed and they were gone as quickly as they had appeared. Daryl crossed the room swiftly, raising a hand to check Jesus' throat but it didn't appear to be bruised, much to the hunter's relief. Daryl and Jesus looked at each other for a long moment and burst out laughing. They laughed until it hurt, sliding down the wall, chuckling side by side until their laughter finally subsided and all that was left was the awkward ringing silence.  
  
"So..." Jesus said, fidgeting nervously with the hem of his shirt.  
  
"So." Daryl agreed, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at his faded jeans.  
  
"Uhhmm... Breakfast?" Jesus perked up suddenly, the thought of food erasing his short-lived shyness.  
  
"Hell yes. Lead the way." Daryl took the offered hand and allowed Jesus to pull him upright, only releasing his fingers when they reached the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because dreams are often symbolic (and fun) I decided to translate Daryl's dream:
> 
> _A white-gold deer flickering through a still forest, a flash of blazing blue eyes, a feeling of total contentment._
> 
> White - Represents peace, awareness and new beginnings. You may be experiencing a reawakening or have a fresh outlook on life. Alternatively, white refers to a clean, blank slate.
> 
> Gold - This color reflects a spiritual reward, richness, refinement and enhancement of your surroundings. It also signifies your determination and unyielding nature.
> 
> Deer - To see a deer in your dream symbolizes compassion and gentleness. It also represents independence, alertness, and virility. Consider the symbol to be a pun for someone who is "dear" to you. 
> 
> Forest - To dream that you are in or walking through the forest signifies a transitional phase. Trust and follow your instincts.
> 
> Blue - The presence of this color in your dream may symbolize your optimism of the future.
> 
> Peace/Contentment - To dream of peace and tranquility indicates a resolution to some emotional issue or inner conflict. It may signal the end of a cycle and the pause before the beginning of a new endeavor. It also suggests that you have reached a new level of stability and calmness.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions are running high as the Hilltop/Alexandria co-op gears up for their assault on the Saviors' compound. Some people handle the stress differently than others.

_"Deep breath in, long and slow... And back out... In through the nose, out through the mouth."_  
  
  
It seemed like centuries ago, but Daryl still remembered Mrs. Flanagan teaching his grade 5 class breathing techniques for "stress management". Why he would recall this particular information _now_ was a mystery and yet, almost unconsciously, the hunter found himself applying that long-buried knowledge; each breath drawn in deep then slowly released into the damp forest air.  
  
He had been pacing the same 40 foot stretch of dirt for nearly half an hour, ever since they had finished the grisly business of procuring a Gregory-head double. Which was far from the most disturbing thing they would do today. Daryl knew that it had to be done. _They HAD to._ There was no room for second guessing this, not now. No turning back. Hell, it was _Daryl's_ idea in the first place. It was the right thing to do. These people were dangerous. They killed for sport, Daryl had seen what they were capable of - there was no room for people like _that_ in this world... It was the right thing to do...  
  
_Deep breath in... Out through the mouth..._  
  
Daryl slumped against a tree trunk, the air caught in his lungs; like it had congealed and lodged there, suffocating him... _Fuck._ Daryl reeled forward, hands on his knees, nearly doubled over as a wave of dizziness swept over him, a sick swoop of fear and guilt rising up in his throat.  
  
"Daryl?"  
  
The hunter pawed uselessly at his knife, unable to find a proper grip before hands were clutching his shoulders, pulling him upright and he was caught in a gaze as blue as the warmest sea. _Jesus._ Daryl could see the shorter man's lips moving but his senses were blurred, muffled, as though he was hearing Jesus speak from underwater. He still couldn't draw breath. Suddenly a sharp crack rung out, clear as a bell, and his cheek lit up painfully. Instantly, oxygen flooded into his lungs as surprise and fury overcame his anxiety.  
  
"Fuck!" Daryl shoved Jesus away, "That fuck'n hurt!"  
  
Jesus' eyes shone with relief, and possibly amusement, "Maybe harsh, but effective."  
  
Daryl glared, cheek still hot and stinging under his fingertips, "....Thanks."  
  
Now that Daryl's initial anger had faded, Jesus approached him, the concern evident in his expression, "Are you alright?"  
  
Daryl wiped his trembling hands on his jeans, avoiding that piercing gaze and tried to brush off the question with a nod. Jesus wasn't buying it. The younger man edged closer, raising a hand to brush lightly across the tender skin on Daryl's face.  
  
"Its okay if you're not, you know." Jesus murmured, "Having a conscience is a strength, not a weakness."  
  
"Yeah, s'just... This - what we're doing... We ain't never done nothin' like it before." Daryl breathed, scarcely able to find his voice, "We've killed afore, plenty. We've seen the worst kind... Murderers... Rapists... Cannibals... We lost people. A lotta good people."  
  
"Daryl.. I'm sorry. I can't - I know I can't begin to imagine what that's like." Jesus' eyes glistened, "And after all of that, after everything you've been through, you are still a good man. You amaze me, Daryl. The more I learn about you, the more amazed I am."  
  
Daryl snorted softly, disbelievingly. "An' now here I am, plannin' to murder people in their sleep. Hows'at for a _good man_?"  
  
"You've seen how these people operate, Daryl. You, more so than anyone, understand what we are up against. They would have murdered Sasha and Abraham, just like they murdered Rory." Jesus spoke firmly, matter-of-factly, "Then they would have found your home and your family. They would have taken what they wanted and killed anyone who opposed them."  
  
Daryl's heart clenched at the thought. He knew it was true, he had been telling himself that all day, but somehow hearing it out loud from someone else reassured him far more effectively than his own reasoning had. Waiting for the fight to come to them was stupid and dangerous, he hated the idea of being caught off guard _again._ Of watching people he loved dying, _again._ He wouldn't do it again. He couldn't. This time, they would have the upper-hand.  
  
"M'not backing out," Daryl muttered, "M'gonna do what needs t' be done to keep 'em safe. To keep you safe."  
  
Before Daryl even realized what he'd said, Jesus lurched forward, smothering Daryl's lips under his own. Daryl growled softly, diving into the soft, welcoming heat of the other man's mouth, their tongues dancing desperately. It wasn't a tender kiss; it was rough and messy, their bodies crashing together like waves against a rocky cliff.  Daryl found his hands buried in Jesus' long hair, clutching tightly, as if those fine strands were a lifeline. Daryl pulled, tilting Jesus's head to one side, mouthing wetly at the soft curve of his neck, savoring each breathy moan. A light nip at the warm flesh earned him a whimper of approval.  
  
"Oh fuck, Daryl, yes.." Jesus's hands were sliding down the hunter's torso, dropping to Daryl's waistband, his fingertips grazing along the sensitive skin on the hunter's lower belly, dipping under the denim barrier briefly - teasingly - before his hands went to work on Daryl's belt.  
  
"Jesus, fuck.." Daryl groaned out, startlingly loud in the muffled silence, "Jesus wait.. not- not here." The hunter forced himself to catch those strong fingers and pulled them away from his zipper, "There's a spot. Found it earlier, c'mon."

After what felt like ages, but was probably only a few minutes, Daryl slammed Jesus against the side of a rusted out Pontiac, fumbling blindly for the door latch while shedding various bits of clothes on the grassy floor. Finally the door wrenched open and Daryl maneuvered Jesus into the backseat, a wave of hot stale air assaulting him as they tried to arrange themselves on the narrow cushion. Jesus swung his leg over Daryl's lap, straddling the hunter, his eyes full of laughter as he circled his hips, grinding down ever so slightly on Daryl's aching hardness.  
  
"Car sex, Daryl?" he teased, "Aren't we a little old for this?"  
  
"You ain't," Daryl grumbled, hips thrusting up against Jesus, seeking friction and heat, "Y' rather do it on the ground, with all them walkers around?"   
  
Jesus didn't respond, having returned to the business of removing Daryl's pants, and Daryl wasn't about to complain. Jesus yanked the worn denim down to the hunter's mid-thigh exposing his striped blue boxers which were tented under the strain of Daryl's impressive erection. Jesus palmed the outline of Daryl's cock, wrenching a desperate whine of pleasure from the stoic hunter.  
  
"I like making you fall apart like this, Daryl, its so fucking hot..." Jesus whispered smugly, wrapping his fingers around Daryl's hot shaft, "Want to feel this inside me..." a subtle twist of his hand freed Daryl's cock, "You want that Daryl?"  
  
Daryl grabbed a fistful of that long hair, jerking Jesus into a breathless kiss to shut him up, smiling a little as his words dissolved into a pathetic moan. Somehow Jesus managed to get his own pants down and Daryl groaned as his hot skin brushed temptingly against the hunter's aching shaft. Daryl groped blindly, taking both of their shafts in his hand.  
  
"Fuck," he breathed as Jesus drew away to rest his forehead on Daryl's shoulder. He could barely wrap his hand around both their cocks, the soft skin of his head rubbing against Jesus's in a whisper of friction that threatened to undo him right there. A glance down to see his cock shaft-to-shaft with Jesus's brought him thundering closer to the edge and he relaxed his hand, taking a deep breath and holding it to pace himself. "Jesus Fucking Christ..."  
  
"Ohh fuck, Daryl," Jesus hissed, his face still buried in the curve of Daryl's neck, apparently unable to find a snarky response to Daryl's slightly blasphemous praise, "I'm not gonna last -nng- very long.."  
  
Daryl free hand cupped behind Jesus's neck, tilting him up for a slower, more reverent kiss than they had managed yet. He was gliding his loose fist up and down their shafts almost lazily as he explored the younger man's mouth, licking along Jesus's lower lip, sucking it into mouth. Jesus's hips jerked forward, fucking into Daryl's fist in earnest. He reached down to wrap his own hand over top of Daryl's, his thumb sliding over the slit on top of Daryl's cock, smearing the pre-cum there onto his own head, mingling their wetness.  
  
"Jesus.." Daryl rumbled, enjoying the feel of that name on his tongue, "Fuck yes -- M'close.. Gonna cum baby..."  
  
Jesus moaned in agreement, squeezing and slicking pre-cum across the heads while Daryl pumped up and down their shafts. There was no rhythm left in his movements, he was just frantically chasing down that release - he could feel the tension building, a hot pool of need gathering, ready to spill over at any second. Jesus's hips bucked upward into their joint grip, soft grunts of pleasure falling from his sensual mouth. His eyes were shut, his head canted back, breathing raggedly; each pleading moan edged with pure _need._ _Fuck._ He was so fucking gorgeous.  
  
“Daryl,” Jesus breathed, hips thrusting upwards again, and Daryl didn’t need the plea to continue, both of them teetering as close to the edge as they were. His chest was tight, his breaths ragged, and with a strangled cry Jesus’s hips lifted from his lap, thrusting into their joint fists once more as the tightly wound coil snapped in a spectacular release, enough to throw sparks across Daryl’s vision as all his breath left him in something between a growl and a whimper.  
  
"Fffuck," Daryl gasped out his release, spilling over nearly in unison with Jesus, as his cock throbbed against Daryl's, come splashing onto the hunter's chest. Both men collapsed against each other, panting heavily, their bodies humming with the intensity of their orgasms.  
  
After several long moments Daryl drew back slightly, laying a breathless kiss on Jesus's lips as he reached for his trusty red - faded to pink now - shop rag. He started by cleaning Jesus's fist thoroughly, then his own and finally mopped up the come that was slowly slipping toward his bellybutton. Jesus was laughing under his breath, his shoulders quivering with mirth and Daryl found himself chuckling softly too, even as he tucked his partially-softened dick away and fastened his jeans again.  
  
"Stop laughin', ya prick." Daryl growled, fighting back his own grin.  
  
"You stop first," Jesus snickered, pulling his fly closed as he slid off Daryl's lap, "Laughter is good for the soul, Daryl. You should listen to me. I'm Jesus."  
  
Daryl snorted loudly, shoving the grinning fool just hard enough to send him tumbling out the door, into the tall grass where he lay, perfectly content. Daryl slid out of the overheated car, his chest slick with sweat and cast around for his clothes. He found his shirt snagged on the front bumper and his vest abandoned in a heap several feet away and pulled them on, checking instinctively for his weapons. Jesus rolled to his feet with a feline agility that Daryl couldn't help but envy.  
  
"Well, suppose we ought to get back to the group before Rick sends out a search party." he suggested brightly as he pulled on his own shirt.  
  
Daryl nodded, a flutter of unease washing over him again as they padded quietly through the sun-speckled forest. At least he knew what he was fighting for.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the ambush turns into a kidnapping, Jesus feels helpless in the face of Daryl's rage.

"We've got a Carol and a Maggie."  
  
  
  
Jesus stopped scanning the trees for any sign of the mysterious voice, his eyes snapping to Daryl instead. The hunter's face flickered with shock and fear for just the briefest moment before the hard mask slid back into place as Daryl hauled their captive to his feet roughly, gun pinned to his back. Jesus was aware that Rick was still negotiating with the captors but the Hilltop ambassador found it too difficult to focus on the conversation with the guilt that was welling up inside of him, choking off oxygen.  
  
This wasn't how it was supposed to go! This was supposed to be the _end_ of the Saviors, not the beginning of a war. What had he done? How many lives would be lost due to his own recklessness - would Maggie and Carol be the first to pay for his mistakes?

As soon as the the voice cut off for the last time Rick barked out an order for everyone to spread out and start searching the perimeter for any sign of the woman who had taken their friends. Jesus naturally fell in step next to Daryl, hoping to catch his eye, to reassure him that they would find them and that Carol and Maggie would be fine. Daryl refused to meet his gaze, his eyes were locked firmly on the ground, his jaw clenched painfully tight as the experienced tracker led them quickly to where Carol and Maggie had been patrolling. The pair came across the fallen walker almost immediately and Daryl dropped into a crouch, assessing the scene at a glance.  
  
"This was them, these're Maggie's prints here - Carol took down the walker...." he shifted over the moist earth, "This over here - that ain't walker blood, s'too fresh.. Lookit the spray on them trees, that was a bullet wound. Can't a been fatal though... not 'nough blood, n' there's no drag marks of a body being moved.." Daryl continued reading the forest floor like a book laid out in a language only he understood, "There's more tracks here... three.. no four people. Two of 'em are women fer sure... this one's a little tougher t' read.. small feet but deep prints.."  
  
Jesus followed at a distance, speechless with admiration as Daryl muttered half aloud, moving through the trees gracefully, stepping over two more walkers without sparing them a glance. All the hunter cared about was the stumbling, hesitant, dragging prints of the two women who were swiftly hauled off to a concealed access road that Jesus would never have noticed if Daryl hadn't led him straight to it.  
  
"Fuck!" Daryl's outburst rang out loudly in the cool morning air, "Tire tracks. They've moved 'em."  
  
Jesus stared at the subtle impression of tire treads, his heart sinking. He had hoped - he'd been so certain - that Daryl could track these people down quickly and save Carol and Maggie and everything would be okay. But now...  
  
Without warning Daryl spun around, knife in hand, pinning Jesus against the nearest tree, his eyes glinting dangerously, "Where the fuck are they?"

Jesus's brain stuttered to a halt, "Whoa! W..what? What do you mean, Daryl?" he stammered, staring at the blood-crusted blade held inches from his eyeball.  
  
"This started with YOU!" Daryl roared, "You got us inta this mess! We were doin' jus' FINE til you come along with all yer fancy talk an' bullshit!" the hunter's fist dug painfully into Jesus's clavicle, "An' now Carol is gone! Maggie is GONE!! She's fucking pregnant, you sonofabitch!"  
  
"Daryl. I swear-"  
  
"Fuck you." Daryl snarled, nose-to-nose with the younger man, his voice low and vicious, "This whole thing smells like a set up.. shoulda saw it comin'. M' own damn fault, trustin' a smarmy lil prick like you. If our people die t'day, I'm holdin' _you_ responsible."

Jesus met that fiery gaze boldly, "Daryl. I didn't betray you, I promise. But if any of our people get hurt today I will blame myself." clear, bright eyes searched dark, stormy ones, "I _did_ drag you into this, Daryl. This was my battle and I should never have allowed you to put yourselves in harm's way for us."  
  
"You used us." Daryl whispered, unable to prevent the hurt showing in his eyes, "You were just usin' us- Usin' me..."  
  
"No!" Jesus risked laying a gentle hand on Daryl's arm, "Not that, of course not that, Daryl! I wanted to help you, I thought we could all benefit from working together."  
  
Daryl yanked his arm away from that soft touch, "Yeah, I know exactly how y' wanted to _benefit._ " the hunter sneered.  
  
"What happened between us had nothing to do with this." Jesus said softly, "I'm not trying to manipulate you or use you, Daryl. I just like you."  
  
Daryl snorted, but released Jesus's bruised collarbone, "Whatever. Go get Rick. I'ma keep trackin' these bastards."  
  
  
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
Rick watched as Jesus trotted out of the dense tree line without Daryl, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. He kept his Colt trained on the captive, while his other hand hovered over his spare gun - the blue eyed leader's instinct told him that Jesus was on the level, but after the disastrous way this ambush had turned out he wasn't certain anymore.  
  
"Rick!" the bearded man spoke up as soon as he was within earshot, "Daryl found their tracks! They got in a truck but Daryl thinks he can track them if we hurry."  
  
"Alright, get up." the older man growled at his bound captive, hauling him to his feet, "Glenn! C'mon, Daryl found the trail, we're goin' t' get Maggie back."  
  
Glenn sprinted over, his eyes wild with fear and relief, silky black hair matted to his sweaty forehead. "Where's Daryl? Are they okay, what's happening?"  
  
"Glenn," Jesus raised a reassuring hand, "Daryl found a hidden service road where they got away, I'll lead you there but we have to stay calm and play this smart."  
  
"Don't talk to me about staying calm, _Jesus._ " Glenn spat, "That's my wife. They are our FAMILY! And they might die because we were trying to help YOUR PEOPLE!"  
  
Rick stepped in just as Glenn raised a trembling fist, catching him by the wrist, "That is enough. We don't have time for this now." the commander's tone was gentle but brooked no argument, "We need to act now - we can deal with the rest when Maggie is home. Okay?"  
  
Glenn sagged as the rage drained out of his limbs, "Okay.. Okay, yeah. Let's just- let's just get her back."  
  
"We will." Rick promised, "Go get us a vehicle - somethin' that can handle a bush trail. Jesus, show us where to go."  
  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
The group met at an intersection where the access trail met up with a more-traveled dirt road, gathering around as Daryl laid out the situation.  
  
"There's four of 'em. Two women -maybe three- an' at least one man. He's injured, got shot back there. They must have guns, else Carol n' Maggie woulda got the drop on them. They headed east, outside of our patrol range but I remember seein' a slaughterhouse on the map. Best guess says that's where they're goin'"  
  
"Okay," Rick raised his voice confidently, displaying his innate leadership qualities, "Four people. One of 'em is already injured, we can handle that. I'll keep talkin' to the woman on the radio; try to learn more, maybe she'll let something slip. Hopefully they'll let their guard down. In the meantime, we are going to this location and one way or another we are taking them down."  
  
"We won't have room for all of us in one vehicle, Rick. Not with Carol and Maggie." Michonne spoke up reasonably, "And we need to get this safe house cleared out, get the food and weapons back home. I'll stay back, take care of things here."  
  
Rick nodded, "Right, we'll split into groups. Glenn, Daryl and I are going to get the girls. The hostage is coming with me, as insurance. We have room for two more, who's it gonna be?"  
  
Jesus stepped forward but Daryl cut in first, "Not you." the hunter glared, "Yer goin' with Michonne. She can keep an eye on you, make sure y' don't slip off an' rat us out."  
  
"Daryl..." Jesus murmured, "I wouldn't do that."  
  
"He's right," Rick announced, "this is a family matter. You wanna help, you stay here and get those weapons cleared."  
  
Jesus shrugged and nodded, fading out of the circle as the others closed ranks, the atmosphere tense. Rosita and Father Gabriel were selected as the final two members of the rescue team, while Michonne and the others headed back on foot to complete their assignment.   
  
  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
  With the last weapon piled rather haphazardly into the RV, Jesus collapsed wearily on one of the few free seats available. It hadn't taken long to clear the Savior's armory and provisions; Abraham and Sasha were busy siphoning the gas from their tanks and stripping everything useful they could find. They hadn't heard anything from Rick's rescue crew and the mood was growing increasingly grim. Jesus dragged a palm heavily over his eyes, trying to iron out the image of Daryl's betrayed expression.  
  
"Everything alright?"  
  
Jesus started, whirling to face Michonne who leaned casually in the doorway, arms folded across her torso. It was rare for anyone to catch the Hilltop emissary by surprise and Jesus could not help but be impressed.  
  
"Yeah, fine... Well. No, not really - I'm worried. About Carol, Maggie and... the others." Jesus admitted, staring at his bloodstained palms.  
  
"Its more than that." Michonne stated bluntly, "You're a mess. What's going on?"  
  
"You don't beat around the bush." Jesus huffed, amusement bleeding through his bleak expression.  
  
"Not really," Michonne's smile was warm, "So what's going on between you and Daryl?"  
  
Jesus winced, "I -uh- I didn't think you knew about that. Abraham tell you?"  
  
"Abe hasn't said a word." Michonne smirked, "Wasn't hard to figure out, I see the way you look at him. An' he hasn't killed you for staring like that so I guess its mutual."  
  
Jesus scrubbed his beard self-consciously, "Right."  
  
"So? What are you gonna do about it?" She demanded, eyes suddenly steely.  
  
"I- I think I've already messed it up." he confessed. "He doesn't trust me.. he thinks I set you guys up.  I swear I had no idea-"  
  
"I know." Michonne interrupted, "If it had been a set up we'd all be dead or captured. Maggie and Carol getting caught was just shitty luck, that's all."

Relief washed over the bearded man, "You really believe me?"  
  
"Of course." She sat down across from him, "Daryl knows it too. He's just scared."

 "How do I fix it?" Jesus couldn't keep the pleading note out of his voice.  
  
"That will depend on how this plays out." she shrugged, "If its good news, then he'll come around soon enough. If not..." She trailed off, cocking her head as the rumble of an engine and tires on gravel became audible.

The pair leapt to their feet, guns drawn, and scrambled out the narrow door, nearly colliding with Abraham and Sasha in their haste. Sasha glanced at Abe, nodding sharply then leaned around the corner of the RV, her rifle poised for action.

"It's them!" She hissed, turning with wide eyes to clutch Abe's arm, "They're back!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was like pulling teeth from a shark, so I apologize for the abrupt end. Next week's will be better, I promise.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of his fight with Jesus, Daryl has a chance for some serious soul-searching.

Daryl Dixon was a Class A Jerk.

They had dropped Jesus off at the Hilltop, splitting the spoils of war with their new allies. Daryl hadn't been able to bring himself to apologize for being an overly suspicious asshole - he tried, he really did. But the words caught in his throat and he shuffled his feet and handed the younger man an 8-inch tactical dagger with a black sheath instead. It seemed to suit him, Daryl hoped he liked it. Jesus's bright blue eyes were cool and distant as he offered Daryl a polite farewell. He was much more companionable when he assured Rick that they would be in touch and insisted Maggie visit their doctor as often as possible.  
  
That was almost a week ago but Friday still seemed like it was a lifetime away.  
  
That was the agreed upon day, when they would make another trip to the Hilltop to negotiate the next trade arrangement between the allied communities. Daryl paced restlessly in his eerily silent living room. That's when he could finally sack up and apologize - and tell Jesus how he felt. The hunter flopped wearily into the nearest chair, staring out the window. There wasn't much to see; too many houses cluttering up the view. Too many thoughts cluttering up his head. Daryl sighed, scrubbed a hand over his face and dug out a cigarette, his thoughts drifting to Rick. The former cop had been the first one to break through the hunter's barriers. Daryl had built up those walls for so long; buried his true self under layers of anger, bravado and alcohol for _years,_ terrified that someone would guess what Daryl's father had always suspected.  
  
His fingers drifted absently to the scars on his shoulder, reliving the beatings and the accusations through a rage-tinted lens.  
  
Daryl took a long drag of the cigarette, cherry glowing bright-red in the darkened room. Growing up in that hell-hole had nearly killed him, on more than one occasion. It was a fucking miracle he had survived. But he _had_ survived and, instead of getting out of that life and doing something worthwhile with his life, he had wound up being just as worthless as his daddy. Following his asshole brother around, watching Merle spiral into a life of crime and drugs and cheap booze. Joining him, sometimes, when things got real bad.  
  
Then one day the world fell apart. Except, for the Dixon brothers, it didn't make much difference. Other than the ravenous corpses roaming around, it really wasn't a big change from the life they had always lived. Surviving day-to-day; lying, stealing and cheating to get ahead. Just business as usual. Hell, he was made for it.

Until Rick Grimes came along.  
  
Rick was different than anyone Daryl had ever known. At first Daryl had hated everything about him. No way he could _actually_ be that good and kind and brave. Nobody was like that in real life. That shit only happened in the stories that Daryl used to read when he was hiding in his room, trying to ignore the sound of his parents screaming at each other. Real people were dark and cruel and selfish, they didn't go out of their way to protect other people unless there was something in it for them. That's just how it worked.  
  
Another deep drag on his smoke, a gleam of scarlet. Smoke filled his lungs, searing his throat.  
  
Rick had gone back to save Merle, despite Merle being the most ill-tempered, ornery bastard in all of Georgia. At the time, Daryl assumed that Rick was just doing it to get the guns and would leave Merle in a heartbeat, but Rick had tried his damndest. And then they had met Guillermo's crew and Rick helped _them_ too. It was utterly baffling to the archer. Who did that? Just went around helping strangers and giving them half their fucking weapons, without a second thought? It was insane. Rick was fucking insane, there was no way he could last in _this_ world. Or so Daryl had thought.  
  
He tapped the growing column of ash into an empty can of beans on the coffee table.  
  
It wasn't until Sophia had gone missing that Daryl had finally begun to understand what drove Rick. That's when his grudging respect for Rick had grown into genuine admiration. It wasn't easy, caring about people. It was downright dangerous. Then Daryl had nearly died in that gorge, and all he could think about was getting back to Rick because he knew that he would be safe once he found Rick.  
  
Daryl smashed his cigarette out irritably.  
  
That was it. That was the moment he had fallen for Rick. Because _of course_ , the first time Daryl ever allowed himself to acknowledge that long-hidden, shameful truth; the first time he admitted to himself that he was gay, would be for a man who would _never_ feel the same way. Daryl laughed humorlessly into the oppressive silence, self-loathing creeping up again.  
  
He had to get the hell out of here, he needed some fresh air before he lost his damn mind.  
  
  
\-----------------------------------------------

 

Ten minutes later, Daryl was perched in the watchtower on the south wall, stars strewn across the velvety-black sky; brighter than he had ever seen them pre-apocalypse. Alexandria slept below, silent and serene, it's quiet strength providing comfort in the cool night air. The hunter looked on with mild interest as a walker shambled out of the forest, ricocheting off a tree and sprawling wetly in the grass. It's feeble attempts to regain its feet were rendered pointless by the fact that both of its arms were broken, dangling listlessly in its tattered sleeves. Daryl watched as the corpse skidded itself backwards with its feet until it became trapped against the side of the wall, then the hunter lost interest, returning to gazing out at the pitch-dark horizon. 

The air was damp in his lungs, the surrounding forest was quiet and Daryl soon fell back to brooding. His thoughts turned bizarrely to Aaron and Eric; the first time he had seen the couple together, the first time he had seen them kiss... It had been surreal. Knowing that Aaron and Eric were together and happy and openly in love and it was _okay?_ No one trying to stop them; no one was screaming hate and abuse at them for being gay... Everyone accepted them for who they were without question.  
  
Daryl didn't have to be afraid anymore. It was okay. His family would love him no matter what... probably. No, not probably - they _would_. They would. It was revolutionary. It was a lifetime of fear and shame lifted off the archer's shoulders.  
  
However there was still his massively inappropriate crush on Rick. For a minute Daryl had thought, after the whole Jessie-thing ended that he might tell the older man how he felt. Just to get it out in the open, so he could know for sure that he was wasting his time. So he could move on with life. At least, that's what he had meant to do that day when they left on their supply run. They had all day together, alone in the close quarters of their salvaged car, with Rick singing obnoxiously to awful music and all Daryl had to do was work up the nerve. But of course everything had gone to shit when Jesus showed up.  
  
Daryl scowled, recalling the chaotic chase that ensued, culminating in an unconscious Jesus being hauled back to Alexandria, flopping sideways onto the hunter's shoulder. His face heated at the memory. It had been weirdly comforting to feel the younger man pressed against his side.... But that was ridiculous, the guy was an asshole - or so Daryl believed at the time - so he shoved him away and glowered at Rick's grinning face in the rear view mirror.  
  
The next morning, Rick and Michonne were suddenly 'Rick  & Michonne' and Daryl knew it was over. Any plans he had of telling Rick how he felt - any secret hope he harbored of actually _being_ with Rick had fizzled the moment he saw them half-naked, emerging from Rick's bedroom.  
  
And for some reason, that didn't hurt nearly as much as Daryl expected it to. Maybe because he loved Michonne like a sister and if anyone was going to make Rick happy - and keep Rick safe for him - it was her. Yeah, that was it... or maybe it had something to do with Daryl being unable to stop thinking about Paul Rovia's jewel bright eyes since the first moment they'd met, in front of that abandoned gas station.   
  
This time, when Daryl realized he was falling for the younger man, he hadn't fought it so hard. This time the archer wasn't going to miss his opportunity because he was too damn scared or too deep in denial. Not that he had handled it perfectly, by any means, but when Daryl thought back to Jesus's mouth pressed against his, he knew he wasn't going to give up. Not this time.


	7. Chapter 7

Daryl woke abruptly on Friday morning. Rolling out of bed before his eyes were even fully open, he snatched the freshly laundered clothes from his hamper and hit the shower. Standing under the hot spray, he let out a groan of sheer relief as the steady pressure relaxed the knot between his shoulder blades. Daryl scrubbed a palmful of cheap shampoo through his grimy hair, cringing at the flowery (or maybe fruity?) scent of it. Rinsing it out quickly, the hunter hoped the smell wouldn't cling to him all day. Several minutes later, free of grit and smoke and sweat, Daryl stepped out of the shower feeling invigorated.  
  
"Alright," He told the mirror as he swiped fog from its shiny surface, "Y' got a chance to fix this. Don't fuck it it up."  
  
Daryl's reflection raised a skeptical eyebrow, but didn't argue as the hunter pulled on his clothes. Daryl was nervous. What was he supposed to say? Should he bring Jesus something - a gift, or maybe some flowers? ...Nah, not flowers, that was stupid... Unless Jesus liked flowers. Did guys like flowers? Daryl sort of did, but only if he found them out in some secluded meadow  - not the stupid store-bought kind. _Okay enough_ , he told himself firmly, _you're overthinking this._ All he had to do was admit he was wrong and apologize -  Jesus would forgive him... _right?_  
  
With one final glare at the mirror, Daryl yanked the door shut and went to find Rick and Michonne.  
  
  
\------------------------------------------  
  
  
Michonne stifled a yawn behind her fist as she pulled open the door, only slightly surprised to find Daryl sporting dripping wet hair and a frown, indicating he was anxious about something.  
  
"You showered?" that wasn't the greeting she had meant to open with, but it slipped out anyway, "I mean; Good morning, what's up?"  
  
Daryl dragged a hand through his damp locks as he followed her into the kitchen,"Yeah, I guess. Where's Rick, ain't we s'posed to be leavin' soon?"  
  
Michonne raised a knowing eyebrow, "Rick's in the shower, he'll be out soon. What's the rush, Daryl?"  
  
"What? Nuthin' just- just wanna get movin' s'all." Daryl replied evasively.  
  
"Uh-huh, sure." Michonne poured three cups of coffee, pushing one across the table toward the restless archer. "Why don't you sit and relax for a minute?"  
  
After a second's hesitation, Daryl flopped into a chair and took a gulp of steaming black coffee, hissing as the hot liquid seared his tongue. Fingers tapping, knee bouncing, Daryl glanced at the clock every few seconds - a fact that did not escape Michonne's notice. She took a seat across from the agitated hunter, adding cream and a little sugar to her own coffee, before taking a cautious sip.  
  
After several more seconds of Daryl trying to wriggle out of his skin, Michonne couldn't hold her tongue anymore, "So, you wanna talk about it?" she suggested softly.  
  
"Bout what? There ain't nuthin' t' talk about." Daryl snapped, a little too quickly.  
  
"Okay." she raised a hand in a placating gesture, her tone mild, "I just thought you might be interested in what Jesus and I talked about last week."  
  
"What? You talked to him - when? Bout what?" Daryl straightened up suddenly, nearly overturning his mug.  
  
"Why don't you tell me what happened first, then I'll tell you what he said." Michonne countered smoothly, the faint sparkle in her eyes daring the hunter to try backing out.  
  
"Well uh, we - I mean, me n' him -" Daryl glowered at his coffee, like it had done him a personal wrong, "Do I really gotta talk about this?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Daryl blew out a sigh, "Me 'n Jesus got a kinda - _thing_ \- goin'..." he muttered finally, cheeks flushing adorably pink.  
  
Michonne couldn't prevent the wide grin that spread her cheeks but she tamped it down quickly, composing her voice, "That's great Daryl, I'm happy for you."  
  
The hunter glanced at her swiftly, searching her face for any sign of deception, "Yeah. Thanks, I guess... Don' really matter - I already fucked it up so..." Daryl trailed off miserably.  
  
The swords-warrior reached across the table, squeezing the archer's hand gently, "I'm sure its fixable, Daryl. Just tell him how you feel."  
  
Daryl snorted, "M'not so good with feelin's an' shit." Then his eyes narrowed, "So what did he say t'you?"  
  
Michonne drummed her fingers on the smooth tabletop, pondering how much to share, "He was upset. Worried about Maggie and Carol... and he was sure you would never trust him again. He asked me how to fix it."  
  
Daryl's features brightened, flooding with sudden hope, "What'd y' tell him?"  
  
"I told him he should give you some space, let you figure things out on your own a bit." she smiled, "I knew you would, y'know. Don't let this one get away, Daryl. He's special."  
  
Daryl opened his mouth to respond, a little flustered by her support, when a familiar drawl interrupted, "Who's special?"  
  
Rick stood in the hall entrance, buttoning his faded blue shirt, hair curling wetly around his ears. He looked from Daryl to Michonne curiously but Daryl was already on his feet, heading for the door. "Nuthin' man, I just stopped by to check when w're leavin', s'all." Daryl shot Michonne a warning glare as he yanked open the door.  
  
"Whoa, hey, where ya goin' Daryl? Stick around, finish your coffee." Rick invited, dropping a quick kiss on Michonne's cheek. "We'll be leavin' in thirty."  
  
Daryl froze halfway out the door then turned around slowly, "Alright. Yeah, coffee sounds good."  
  
  
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Daryl sat in the back of the RV, knee bobbing anxiously again, peering through the cheap blinds at the passing scenery. The hunter tried whittling a stick with his knife but the RV was rattling and jouncing so aggressively that he almost lost a fingertip. Daryl's hair had dried and it felt weird; too fluffy or something - it kept tickling his neck and flying up into his nose when he breathed. And the sleeves on his dark blue henley kept binding around his wrists. He hated sleeves. Why did he wear this stupid shirt anyway?  
  
"You alright, Daryl?" Glenn's concerned voice broke through the archer's internal dialogue, "You seem kinda twitchy, is something on your mind?" The father-to-be braced himself firmly against the doorjamb, taking a bite of a very dry-looking oat cookie. He held out a second one for Daryl.  
  
The archer accepted it gratefully, suddenly aware that he'd been too rushed to eat that morning, "Thanks," he mumbled through his first bland mouthful, "M'good. Hate bein' cooped up is all."  
  
"Ah," Glenn nodded, "Yeah, its a boring ride but it'll be worth it. Specially for Maggie." he glanced over his shoulder at his sleeping wife, her hands wrapped protectively around her stomach, "She really wants another ultra-sound after what happened. Those bruises were pretty bad."  
  
"Mm," Daryl agreed, a shard of anger and guilt tightening his throat, "She'll be a'right though. She's tough as hell."  
  
Glenn's smile was quick and fierce, "I know." They both looked up as the RV slowed abruptly, "Looks like we're here." Glenn clapped Daryl on the shoulder, excusing himself to wake Maggie.  
  
Daryl patted the canvas haversack next to him, pulling it onto his shoulder awkwardly as the RV rolled to a stop and everyone piled out. Daryl took a deep breath before plunging into the bright sunlight.  
  
  
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The hunter squinted against the midday brightness, spotting Jesus instantly. The ambassador was greeting Rick and the others warmly; shaking hands with the Alexandrians, favoring Maggie and Glenn with a brief hug. Daryl hung back, still perched on the rusty steps of the Winnebago; torn between wanting to run away and wanting to drag the other man into a kiss in front of everyone. Before he could make a decision on the matter, Jesus's bright blue gaze flickered in his direction. Their eyes locked, holding the gaze for several seconds before Jesus's expression softened into something almost like a smile. Daryl's cheeks heated when he realized that nearly everyone was observing their staring match with interest; more than a few were wearing secretive little grins.  
  
"Hello Daryl, I'm glad you could make it." Jesus broke the awkward silence first, sounding cautious, yet amused. Slowly the mingled crowd of Hilltop residents and Alexandrians dispersed, leaving the two in relative privacy.  
  
Daryl jerked his head in a nod, throat dry, "Yeah." _Fuck sakes. Been working on that speech all week, Darylena?_ The mocking voice in Daryl's ear sounded painfully familiar.  
  
"How was your week?" Jesus moved a little closer, scrubbing a hand over his beard in what Daryl recognized as a nervous gesture.  
  
"Shitty." Daryl admitted, finally stepping down from the RV, closing the distance between them. It would be so easy to reach out right now and touch him. Should he?  
  
Jesus's head cocked, concern furrowing his brow, "What happened, are you okay?" He raised his hand in an abortive motion, as though reaching for Daryl's hand then changing his mind at the last second.  
  
Daryl snorted softly, "Been thinkin'." He forced himself to look Jesus in the eye, "Bout what an asshole I was."  
  
"Daryl, its-" Jesus started to brush it aside but Daryl couldn't let him. He had to say this.  
  
"Its _not_ okay. I shoulda known better." Daryl insisted, edging closer, "An' I never shoulda let you leave without tellin' y' that. Shouldn'a waited this long."  
  
And with that, Daryl reached out those last few inches, slipping his hand around Jesus's lean waist and drew him close. Jesus grinned up at him, eyes sparkling. Whatever else they had to say could wait, because right now all Daryl wanted to do was kiss the fuck out of this colossal pain in the ass. So he did. Their lips met softly, a gentle brush; sweet and chaste. Daryl let out a quiet groan, leaning in to deepen the kiss when they were interrupted by a sharp wolf-whistle and a burst of applause.  
  
The pair broke apart, startled, realizing that they weren't as alone as they had believed. In fact, they had quite an audience. The hunter spotted Abraham, fingers poised for a second piercing whistle, while most of the others were simply grinning like idiots. Daryl raised a cocky middle finger to the crowd, earning a second, louder round of applause mingled with laughter and a couple of loud whoops. Then Jesus was pulling him into another playful kiss, laughter vibrating through his chest, humming against Daryl's lips.  
  
"C'mon Daryl." Jesus waggled his eyebrows, "I"ll show you to my room."  
  
There was an exaggerated _"_ _Oooooh!_ _"_ from the audience.  
  
"A'right," Daryl agreed, hefting his bag, "I brought dinner."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to heat things up...

Jesus led Daryl up toward the sprawling mansion on the hill, their fingers loosely hooked together, both men were smiling and blushing rather obviously. Rick watched in bemusement as the rest of his family cheered and clapped. Apparently most, or possibly all, of them had known that Daryl and Jesus were more than just 'allies'. Rick, on the other hand, had no idea when that had happened.  
  
"How'd I miss that?" he mused aloud, mostly to himself, drawing an exasperated huff from Michonne, whose eyes were suspiciously glossy, "Wait... you knew? Is that what you two were talkin' about this morning?"  
  
"Rick, you are a brilliant leader, but sometimes you are very _slow_ on the uptake." She sighed, patting his arm fondly.  
  
"How come Daryl never told me?" Rick frowned, a little put out by his friend's secrecy, "He coulda told me. Did he think I'd judge him for that?"  
  
Michonne shook her head slowly, "You'll have to ask Daryl that." Then she leaned up on tiptoes up to give him a quick kiss and sauntered off to speak to the Hilltop blacksmith. Rick watched her for a moment, before remembering he was supposed to meet with Gregory to discuss the trade while Maggie was occupied in Dr. Harlan's office.  
  
  
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"So..this is it... My room." Jesus gestured at the small but lavishly decorated bedroom, "Its not really my 'style' but it works."  
  
"S'nice." Daryl grunted from the doorway, reluctant to enter with his dirty motorcycle boots. The plush carpet was faded but looked expensive and well-maintained, much like the rest of the mansion-like interior.  
  
"You can come in you know, I won't bite." White teeth flashed in a quick, flirtatious grin, "Unless you want me to."  
  
Daryl smiled despite himself and toed off his boots, conscious of his mismatched socks. There was a chair in the corner, with Jesus's leather trenchcoat draped across it but Daryl settled for perching lightly on the edge of the bed while Jesus rummaged in his bedside drawer. Finally the younger man straightened up with a triumphant ' _Ah-ha'._ He twirled around with flourish, brandishing a pewter flask with brass rivets.  
  
"Found this on a run this week." he patted it gently, a small smile playing around his lips, "I was planning to give it to you the next time I went to Alexandria but, seeing as you're here-" Jesus shrugged, not quite pulling off the nonchalant motion, "you might as well have it now."  
  
Daryl accepted the gift with reverent hands, admiring the symbol etched into its gleaming surface. He couldn't place it, but it seemed oddly familiar... A tall tree with a row of stars arched above its majestic branches. There was some sort of flowing script along the bottom as well but the hunter hadn't the faintest inkling what it could mean. He turned the flask over to examine the other side and discovered yet another strange symbol in a language he couldn't identify. It almost resembled a cross between a "T" and a "J" but with a fancy loop at the top.  
  
"Its - its really... Thanks." Daryl mumbled and then, almost out of habit, he raised the flask to his ear and gave it a little shake, surprised by the sloshing within, "Its full too?"  
  
"Of course," Jesus winked, "I couldn't very well give you an empty gift, could I?" his eyes danced with mischief again, "Besides, I rather enjoyed raiding Gregory's stash of forty year old scotch."  
  
"Damn thief." Daryl chuckled, as he hooked a finger through Jesus's belt loop; pulling the younger man against his knees so he could look up right into those crystalline blue eyes. "Its the best gift anyone's ever gotten me." Daryl admitted softly, running his fingertips slowly up the cotton-covered skin on Jesus's torso, "Even if I got no idea what's on it."  
  
"Really?" Jesus gasped in surprise, even as his pupils expanded, quickly reducing the blue of his irises to a slender ring, "Its from The Lord of the Rings..." he let out a little moan as Daryl kissed his stomach, hot and damp, through the thin cotton shirt, "S'the Tree of Gondor and - _mmmyesDaryl_ \- and the other - _oh fuck_ \- the other side is... Goddamn baby, never mind!"  
  
Daryl's teasing mouth effectively distracted Jesus from his explanation; funneling all the blood away from his brain. The younger man caught Daryl's questing fingers in his own, gazing directly into the stormy hue of Daryl's eyes.  
  
"Is this really what you want, Daryl?" he asked gently, needing to be certain, "If you're not ready yet... we don't have to."  
  
"What d'ya think?" Daryl replied with a challenging smirk, leaning forward to kiss Jesus's belly again. This time his tongue slipped through the gap between buttons, tasting bare skin, "Been wanting you all damn week."  
  
Jesus groaned at the hot slide of Daryl's tongue, head falling back limply as he surrendered to the temptation, "Yes - _fuck_ \- me too baby.." his fingers wound through Daryl's freshly washed hair, marveling at its softness, "Felt so bad -mm- 'bout how we left it... but _fuck_ but I was so fucking horny."  
  
"Yeah?" Daryl growled between kisses and nips, making quick work of Jesus's buttons, "Didja jerk off thinkin' 'bout me? Y' make yourself cum?" The shirt was torn away and dropped to the carpeted floor with barely a whisper of sound.  
  
" _Yes!"_ Jesus hissed; partly in response, partly in anticipation. "God Daryl... _fuck_... came so hard thinking about you, Daryl..."  
  
The hunter gave Jesus's belt a quick tug, flicking it open easily. Jesus moaned as his jeans pooled around his ankles, hands tangling in Daryl's soft, dark locks. Daryl wasn't sure exactly what his next move was; he had never done any of this before. All he knew is that he wanted Jesus _right fucking now._ He turned his eyes upward again, taking in the gorgeous view of Rovia's wiry chest and stomach - both of which were surprisingly sleek considering the thick beard on the younger man's face. He was beautiful. Daryl felt his cheeks turn pink at that thought - too damn sappy and romantic for a dirty redneck. But then Jesus was sinking to his knees, hands cupping Daryl's face, kissing him tenderly and Daryl felt all that pretentious masculine bullshit slip away.  
  
  
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It was surreal, looking into Daryl's eyes, seeing a softness there that he had never expected. Jesus felt like his chest was too tight, or maybe his heart was too big, and he was suffocating. Drowning. But every time Daryl's lips found his was like a surge of pure oxygen that left him dizzy and gasping; yet alive and humming with energy. It was crazy to be falling this hard for someone he'd only known for a few weeks... but in this world, a few weeks might be all you had left. Sucking in a deep breath, the younger man leaned his forehead against Daryl's trying to catch up to his racing thoughts.   
  
"Daryl," he breathed finally, "I want you. Fuck, I want you so damn bad... Are you a top or a bottom?"  
  
Daryl froze rather noticeably, every muscle in his body going taut. A hot flush crept slowly up the hunter's neck, staining his cheeks pink, "I uh, I dunno... Never done this b'fore." He determinedly avoided eye contact during this admission, "Guess you got dibs."  
  
"Well," Jesus pressed a kiss against Daryl's jaw, just below his earlobe, voice barely more than a whisper, "I thoroughly enjoy it either way." he sucked the soft lobe into his mouth, warm and teasing, "Beginner's choice?"  
  
Daryl groaned, his hands clutching at Jesus's bare skin, dragging over his back and gripping the younger man's shoulders, "Fuckin' Christ! I don't care, just fuck me already!"  
  
"I think I can manage that.." the soft chuckle rippled across Daryl's skin and Jesus was kissing him again, tongue sliding into the hunter's mouth, tasting the rich dark flavor of coffee mingled with a faint remnant of toothpaste. It seemed unfair, Jesus decided, that Daryl was still fully clothed while _he_ was nearly naked. So naturally, the young recruiter began to rectify that imbalance. Daryl's winged vest went first; tossed strategically over Jesus's trenchcoat, then turned his sights on the uncharacteristic blue henley. The long, fitted sleeves certainly highlighted those muscular arms, forged by years of archery. Jesus felt his lips pull into a leering grin as he slipped his fingers under the hem and tugged. The shirt folded up, dragging over Daryl's broad shoulders and mussing his overlong hair as it came off; revealing miles of tanned skin, marred by jagged scars.  
  
" _Daryl..._ " Jesus hissed, without thinking. The evidence of the abuse Daryl had endured was heart-stopping, but Jesus knew better than to draw attention to it. Daryl wouldn't appreciate his pity or accept any words of comfort on the matter. Instead he tilted the hunter's chin up for another moan-filled kiss, smiling as Daryl nipped playfully at his lower lip. It took no time at all to tug Daryl's jeans off, kicking them to the side and then both men were down to just one flimsy layer of cotton each.  
  
Still kneeling between Daryl's nearly-bare legs, Jesus knew there was only one thing he wanted to do right now. The quick hand job they had given each other in that rusted out car had been sexy as hell, but Jesus hadn't got to _taste_ Daryl properly that time. He didn't get to feel the hunter on his tongue, hot and thick. Just the thought of it made his own cock jump with excitement.  
  
"Wanna taste you.." he murmured between glossy lips; full and tingling, "Gonna make you fucking _beg_ , Daryl."  
  
The hunter rumbled low in his chest, almost a purr, "I ain't stoppin' ya."  
  
Dragging his lips slowly down Daryl's throat, Jesus planted little sucking kisses along the hunter's collarbone, drifting down further, teeth grazing over a sensitive nipple, drawing a sharp gasp. Daryl's hands twined into long brown hair, guiding him down over soft skin until Jesus's lips finally discovered the elastic barrier between him and what he wanted most. Trembling fingers tugged at the offending scrap of fabric, yanking Daryl's boxers off in a swift, impatient movement, freeing the hunter's impressively erect shaft.  
  
"You certainly do not disappoint." Jesus winked up at Daryl, earning a snort and an eye roll from the hunter.  
  
"Why don't ya put that pretty mouth to good use for once?" Daryl grumbled, hips raising involuntarily toward the temptingly wet lips in question. Jesus grinned wider than ever. He loved teasing Daryl, he couldn't help himself. But even more appealing than _that_ was what he planned on doing next.  
  
  
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Daryl only vaguely registered the undignified yelp that fell from his mouth as Jesus's slick tongue lapped eagerly at the swollen, aching head of his cock. _Holy fucking shit_. Daryl fell back onto the bed, quivering with need, fists bunching in the burgundy silk. The younger man ran his tongue slowly along the underside of Daryl's cock, starting at the ridge just along the head; sliding down to the base and all the way to the tip in one smooth, practiced motion. Then those lips - so fucking soft and _perfect -_ opened up for his dick and Daryl pushed in without even thinking, sinking into that slick heat with groan.  
  
" _Jesusfuckyes!"_ Daryl's fingers plunged into that silky wheat-gold hair, willing himself not to thrust too deep. He couldn't prevent the little twitches of his legs and hips, which caused his cock to slide along Jesus's tongue and push up into the roof of his mouth. Every tiny motion set off a firestorm of sensation, scrambling Daryl's vision, leaving him panting and begging for more. Then Jesus began sliding up and down his shaft expertly; jaw slack, lips slick as the younger man swallowed Daryl's thick cock right down to the root. With two long slim fingers, Jesus held Daryl's cock firmly while his other hand teased along the hunter's smooth inner thighs, pressing between them, brushing lightly across Daryl's balls and then gliding slowly over the tightly furled hole nestled between his legs.  
  
"Oh f-fuck baby-feels good - _uhhyes-_   so good - oh fuck yes... Don't stop!" Daryl rambled mindlessly, fingers threading through those sleek locks, stroking Jesus's cheek with shaky hands while the other man sucked him unerringly toward a thunderous climax.  
  
Daryl could feel it building, the heat rising in his cheeks, the tight coil of pure _need_ twisting a knot in his stomach. So close. _So close. There-yeah-Right **there** -almost-yes-_  
  
Then Jesus slipped off his shaft with an obscene slurping sound and Daryl whined at the abrupt loss of suction. Propping himself up on his elbows, he glared at the smiling, teasing bastard. "The fuck are y' stoppin' now?"  
  
"Mmm" Jesus licked his lips sinfully, drawing Daryl's gaze to the deep pink, swollen color of them, "Don't want you to cum just yet, baby." He got to his feet, slipping out of his own boxers almost lazily, "I have something even better in mind." He crawled onto the bed, straddling Daryl's bare lap, rolling his hips in a torturous movement, grinding his cock alongside Daryl's spit-slicked shaft.  
  
Daryl wrapped a calloused hand none-too-gently around the back of Jesus's neck, pulling him into a rough, sloppy, breathless kiss, "Best fuckin' get on with it then."  
  
"Your wish is my command, " Jesus smirked broadly, pressing Daryl back into the plush bedding. The pair shimmied up the bed, somewhat awkwardly, until they were surrounded by satin-y pillows and Daryl's head was nudging the headboard. Jesus leaned over to snatch a small bottle from his still-open drawer and then, after a split second's hesitation, drew out a golden foil packet. "D'you want to use a condom?"  
  
"Uh.." Daryl eyed the wrapper skeptically. He'd never _not_ used one, but that was before the world went to hell. And only with women - it wasn't like either him or Jesus could get pregnant. And he really, _really_ didn't want anything between himself and Jesus. He cleared his throat, realizing he'd been silent for several seconds, "Nah, m'good without it. Unless you want-"  
  
Jesus shook his head quickly, a pleased smile on his lips. The condom was discarded carelessly as Jesus slid off of Daryl's lap, positioning himself between the older man's legs. Daryl licked his lips nervously, his thighs trembling slightly with anticipation. Not that he was scared or anything. He trusted that Jesus knew what he was doing - _even if it **did** hurt a little, its not like he wasn't accustomed to a little pain-_ Daryl's musings were cut short when Jesus pressed a hot, wet kiss to the hunter's thigh. Then another.. and another. Each drag and press of his lips brought Jesus closer to Daryl's cock and Daryl was aching to feel his hot mouth wrapped around him again. Thoroughly distracted, the archer didn't even hear the subtle _click_ of the lube opening, and Jesus's slick finger grazing across his rim came as a complete surprise.  
  
"Oh _fuck!_ _"_   A second, firmer, press of that deft finger against his rim drew a surprised gasp from the hunter. His legs opened even further, falling apart limply, allowing that finger to push in slightly. "Feels good." Daryl mumbled softly, unsure if Jesus would even hear him. Jesus made a quiet little sound in his throat, gruff and desperate, at the sight of Daryl splayed open on the bed. The skittish voice in the back of Daryl's mind had faded to barely more than an irritating buzz in the background, while the rest of him was clamoring for  _more._ "C'mon," He groaned suddenly, louder than before, "fuck me, y' fuckin' tease!"  
  
Jesus laughed, bright and clear like sunshine in spring, "Getting a little impatient are we?" and without waiting for a response, he pushed. His finger slid past Daryl's tight rim with just the slightest resistance but Daryl moaned at the sudden intrusion. The sense of fullness was immediate -and it felt fucking _awesome-_ Daryl realized as he squirmed a little, adjusting to the pressure. Jesus laid several soft kisses along Daryl's legs catching the hunter's eye, "This still okay?"  
  
"Yes - _ohhfuck_ \- yeah s'good. Feels- feels good." he grunted, grinding his hips against Jesus's hand, needing more friction. Finally Jesus began to pump his finger in and out in a smooth, steady rhythm and Daryl's head dropped back, burrowing into the fluffy pillow to muffle his whimpers. Then Jesus did something; his wrist twisted and his finger curved slightly and Daryl's whole body lit up like the Fourth of fucking July. A strangled howl of pleasure tore from his lungs, his skin blazing; tingly and fever-hot, every muscle in his body alight with sensation. _Holy fucking fuck..._ That. What..?  
  
"Mhm that's the spot." Jesus announced smugly, his free hand wrapping around Daryl's rock-hard shaft, "Feels like heaven doesn't it?"  
  
Daryl nodded soundlessly, still panting and shaking from the shocking burst of pure ecstasy that rocked him head-to-toe. Before he could find the words to explain what he felt, Jesus wrapped his lips around Daryl's cock again and the hunter whined into the pillow, thrusting upwards into his throat with abandon. Fucking himself down onto Jesus's finger and up into his throat at the same time was overwhelming. Then a second finger joined the first, stretching him open even more. Another nudge, just a faint brush, against that secret nerve center and Daryl was practically screaming into the silky fabric covering his face. Jesus finger-fucked him faster, expertly scissoring Daryl's body open with each stroke. A third finger opened Daryl to the limit, and the hunter knew he needed more than what fingers could provide.  
  
He tried to say as much but all that came out was a pathetic noise, somewhere between a moan and a whimper. Jesus seemed to get the hint anyway, because he drew his fingers out slowly, leaving Daryl aching to be full again.  
  
"Gonna fuck you now, baby," Jesus whispered, crawling up Daryl's body, covering him in kisses, finding his mouth at last and Daryl groaned into it, chasing the flavor of pre-cum on his tongue, "Might not last long - you're so fucking hot, Daryl.." Then he lined his cock up with Daryl's slick entrance and pressed in with a shuddering moan. Jesus fell forward, plunging even deeper as he tried to steady himself, biting at the firm muscle of Daryl's shoulder in frustration. "Fuck Daryl.. _Fuck..._ You are so fucking _tight._ "  
  
"Mmm.. yes, good - _fuck_ \- so good..." Daryl moaned, shifting under Jesus's slender body. The weight of him was barely anything, but the feel of his cock buried deep inside Daryl's body was fucking intense. When Jesus finally began to move, Daryl was gasping into the smooth arch of the younger man's throat; kissing, sucking and biting as each thrust punched a little gasp out of his lungs. That fire was building in his stomach again, rolling out in swirling waves, throbbing in his chest, his brain going blank with over-stimulation. Then Jesus angled his hips just right, gripping Daryl's hip with one hand, and his cock grazed Daryl's prostate again. And again. And again. With each pass Daryl felt his grip on reality slipping away - all that was left was Jesus.  
  
His eyes were so fucking bright. Gleaming; brilliantly blue-green, so vivid they hardly even seemed real. Daryl reached up, dreamlike, to cup Jesus's cheek, fingers brushing over his beard gently. Jesus thrust once more, his mouth falling open in a gasp of surprise and then a groan as he finished, coming hard inside Daryl's body. The feeling of Jesus throbbing inside him as he collapsed onto Daryl's chest was all it took to topple Daryl over the edge. He came hard, sparks flying across his vision as his cock twitched out a thick stream of hot come between their heaving chests.  
  
  
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It was several minutes before either of them managed to move; Jesus finally groaning as he rolled off of Daryl, laying bonelessly next to him. They both stared at the ceiling in a happy daze, still buzzing from their shared climax. Eventually Jesus remembered his manners and fumbled blindly on his night stand until he found the box of tissues there. Grabbing a handful, he began cleaning off Daryl's stomach first. The hunter murmured gratefully, nuzzling into the pillows in an adorably familiar gesture. Jesus finished cleaning Daryl and himself off and slipped silently out of the bed to pull a spare blanket from the wardrobe. He draped it gently over Daryl's sleeping form then crawled in beside him. Jesus watched the sleeping hunter for as long as he could, fighting the heaviness in his own eyelids stubbornly. It was still early in the day but their afternoon romp had left him incredibly satiated and perfectly relaxed.  
  
The last thing he saw was the little smile on Daryl's lips.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long distance relationships suck. Especially during the Apocalypse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place shortly before episode 14, "Twice as Far".

The crops were coming along quickly.  
  
Under Maggie's expertise and the combined efforts of everyone in Alexandria, they were finally starting to see the pay off. Fresh tomatoes and baby carrots seemed like mana straight from Heaven after so long surviving on stale leftovers and salty canned goods. Daryl straightened up from the row of okra and collards he was weeding with a groan. A long _long_ time ago, he had spent the summer at his grandmother's house, helping her weed the garden. Every night Gramma would make the most delicious dinners imaginable. Fried chicken n' biscuits with creamed collard greens, Chicken gumbo packed with okra, Sausage jambalaya. Daryl's mouth watered at the memory. He wished he had let her teach him to cook, as she always offered. But he weren't no damn nancy-boy. _Cookin' is for girls_ , he had told her.  
  
"You were right, Gramma," Daryl muttered, thirty years too late, "Guess I shoulda listened." The hunter leaned downed to gather the pile of loose weeds he had accumulated and tossed them into the nearby wheelbarrow.  
  
It was early. The sun wasn't quite peeking over the eastern horizon yet and Daryl had places to be. Stopping to weed the garden hadn't really been on his agenda but he had anyway - nostalgia, maybe. Letting himself out through the small side gate, Daryl double-checked his weapons and fitted a hand-forged spear into the rifle mount on his bike. He rolled the bike a hundred yards or so from the gate before firing it up and heading out. Daryl felt a twinge of guilt for sneaking off like this. He had left a note saying where he was going - he just didn't want to deal with all the stupid sappy noises and faces every time he went to meet Jesus.  
  
  
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Jesus slipped out of his room, silent as a shadow. He slid down the curved railing to avoid the creaking stairs and let himself outside with a ghostly click.  
  
There was really no reason for his secrecy; Paul Rovia was far from ashamed of his budding relationship with the sullen Alexandrian hunter. He just really enjoyed being stealthy. And maybe he didn't want to see the look of obnoxious disapproval on Gregory's arrogant features. One of these times, Jesus was gonna slap the asshole right off of that prick's face. At the gate, the bright-eyed recruiter grinned boyishly up at the exhausted sentries. The sleep-starved pair rolled their eyes, waving him through.  
  
"Thanks fellas," Rovia smiled, reaching into his bag to toss an apple up to each guard with casual precision, "Shift change oughta be along in twenty minutes or so."  
  
The pair grunted in acknowledgment as Paul set off down the grassy trail at an easy jog. His destination: Daryl. Okay, so he was actually heading for an abandoned farmhouse about halfway between the two communities, which he and Daryl had agreed upon as their standard meeting place. From there they could branch out; Daryl hunting for food and Jesus foraging for supplies. Jesus grinned, wondering if they would actually make it out of the bedroom long enough to do any of that this time.   
  
  
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Sunlight glinted merrily off the hood of a car in the distance.  
  
Immediately, Daryl veered off the highway - hoping against all odds that he had not been spotted already. Weaving skillfully between the thick trees, Daryl cut the engine and waited, heart pounding heavily in his chest. There was no way to know who the occupants of the approaching vehicle might be, but the uneasy clench of his stomach warned the hunter that whoever they were, it wouldn't be a friendly encounter. He set to work camouflaging his bike with broken branches. Reluctant though he was to leave it behind, he knew it was far too dangerous to keep driving the easily identifiable machine.  
  
"I'll come back for ya." He promised the now-invisible motorcycle, then he was on his way. Staying near the highway, masked by trees, the hunter half-jogged along the uneven forest floor, listening intently to the approaching engine. Before long, the car was nearly level with him and Daryl ducked behind the thickest shrubs he could find as it screeched to a halt. Gun in hand, the hunter crouched in the thicket, peering through a gap in the foliage.  
  
"Y'sure this is where you saw that bike?" A door slammed as the voice rang out. Daryl's heart was racing as he watched the four occupants exit their rusty Lincoln. They were well armed - too well for him to handle on his own. He hadn't exactly packed his rocket launcher this time.  
  
"Yeah, pretty sure man." the smallest of the four piped up, peering into the bush excitedly. Daryl held his breath, clutching his gun with sweaty fingers. "Love t' get my hands on that beauty."  
  
The hunter growled low in his throat, an instinctive response to that declaration, and drew a second gun from his waistband. How hard could it be to take them out? They were just standing around like morons. _Easy pickings..._  
  
"Whoever it was is long gone by now." The third speaker was leaning against the car, examining his fingernails in a thoroughly bored manner, "Nobody wants ta hang around n' get murdered these days."  
  
There was some muttering of agreement from the others, but the little one stomped his foot petulantly, "They couldn'a got far in these trees! I say we keep lookin!"  
  
The driver stepped up, shaking his head, "Nah Jerry, we got orders." his hand hovered threateningly over his gun, "If ya wanna come back yourself another day, that's your own neck on the line. We ain't got time for chasin' some bike." He waved a hand to the others, "C'mon boys, lets haul ass."  
  
Daryl breathed a shaky sigh of relief as four doors slammed in unison and the car sped off without incident.  
  
  
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Jesus was sweating profusely when he finally glimpsed the cozy little farmstead, nestled far out of sight of prying eyes from the highway. He circled the perimeter cautiously, as always, concern creeping into his throat when he realized that Daryl's bike was not there yet. The hunter should have been there already; he always made it first, and often walked out to meet Rovia partway.  
  
"Where are you Daryl?" He murmured aloud, shrugging out of his sweat-sticky leather coat. A dozen possible scenarios flitted through his mind's eye, each worse than the last. Had he run out of fuel? Crashed his bike? Encountered a herd of walkers? Been accosted by un-neighborly strangers? Had there been an attack on Alexandria?  
  
_Okay! Slow down, Paul,_ He told himself firmly. Surely Daryl was just running a little late, there was no need to press the metaphorical panic button just yet. Despite his own assurances, he couldn't shake the apprehensive knot in his stomach. The recruiter's mind instantly decided that waiting inside would be strategically unwise. Visibility was better from out here... but he was also exposed. Vulnerable. Without a second thought, Jesus hopped up, grasping a flexible branch overhead; scrambling into the tree with ease. He scaled the thick trunk until he was more or less halfway up and found a reasonably comfortable fork to perch in while he waited. It was the perfect vantage point to monitor the small clearing.  
  
"C'mon Daryl, you gotta be okay." Jesus gripped the hilt of his tactical knife nervously, his gaze wide and watchful.  
  
  
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At that exact moment, Daryl was face-to-face with a snarling, decomposed Fed-Ex driver. The hunter gripped its exposed clavicle and slammed his knife hilt-deep into its putrefied skull. Shoving the repulsive corpse away from himself, Daryl quickly wiped his knife clean on a clump of grass and clambered up the sloping hill. At the top he stopped to suck in several deep breaths.  
  
"Fuck runnin'.." the hunter panted irritably, "Who's dumb fuckin' idea was that?"  
  
The farm was just at the bottom of the ridge, well-hidden from unfriendly attention. Still, Daryl approached warily; keen eyes scanning the surrounding woods for anything out of place. He stepped out of the cover of trees, into the clearing, gun drawn and started toward the farmhouse door. A whisper of movement in the trees on his right stopped the archer in his tracks. Daryl whirled around, weapon raised.  
  
"Took you long enough." The familiar voice, lilting with amusement, came from overhead. Lithe as a jungle cat, Jesus swung down from his nest in the tree, perching lightly on a slender branch just above Daryl. Relief shone in the younger man's eyes. "I was starting to get a little worried... Just a little." Leaping smoothly to the ground, Jesus smiled brighter than the sun.  
  
Most of the tension drained from Daryl's weary limbs at the sight of that smile. "A _little_ worried?" Daryl teased, "The fuck ya doin' up a tree?"  
  
Jesus just shrugged, pulling Daryl into a kiss to drown any further conversation. Daryl melted into Paul's arms, fists bunching reflexively in his pale green shirt. The hunter tried to express all of his own worry and relief and sheer joy through that kiss. Everything he struggled to say out loud. Finally they broke apart, a little breathless and more than a little turned on. In the emerald-gold light of the forest, Jesus's eyes were transformed from their usual tropical blue to a clear warm green.  
  
"What happened, babe?" Jesus asked finally, "Where's your bike?"  
  
Daryl shook his head in annoyance, "Met some strangers back there a ways," he jerked his head homeward, "Hid the bike. Ran the rest'a the way."  
  
Rovia's eyes widened in alarm, "Who were they? Did they see you? Wait-" his eyes narrowed skeptically, "You _ran?_ You hate running!"  
  
Daryl snorted, "Fuckin' right I do." his hand slid down Jesus's arm, twining their fingers together, "Had t' find you."  
  
Green eyes twinkled, "Cuz you were worried?"  
  
A grudging smile tugged the corner of Daryl's lip upwards, "Maybe a little." his expression turned serious again, "We gotta move though. Those people, they were headin' toward home."  
  
"Then let's get back there and warn Rick." Jesus agreed without hesitation, pulling on his coat again. 


	10. Chapter 10

Jesus sat back listening intently as Daryl relayed his encounter to Rick and the rest of the council. The tension in the room was electric.

"They said they had orders?" Rick clarified at last, leaning toward Daryl with hard, calculating eyes. "Did they say who was giving the orders? Or any details at all?"

"Nah, that was it." Daryl dragged a hand through his sweat damp hair, "They were headin' this way though. An' the way they talked was like they'd seen my bike b'fore. Like they was lookin' for it."

Michonne sighed, "You think they're from Negan's crew?"

"They might just be stragglers." Rick announced, reasonably, "Maybe a scouting crew that was on a run when we hit their base."

"Suppose they aren't though?" Aaron piped up, "What if they ones we found were just the tip of the iceberg?"  
  
"We don't know that," Rick answered shortly, "However, we are going to increase patrols and guard duty again, just in case. And from now on, no one travels alone." He glanced at Daryl and Jesus, a faint smile playing around his lips, "Got that, Dixon? No more sneaking off to meet your boyfriend at four in the morning."  
  
Daryl's ears flushed pink and he mumbled something unintelligible while the rest of the group chuckled fondly at his embarrassment. Jesus smirked and squeezed Daryl's knee under the table, answering for both of them, "Whatever you say, Rick. We'll bring a chaperone from now on, Scout's Honor."  
  
Rick snorted, shaking his head, "How about you stick around for awhile, Rovia? Might be best - we could use your help."  
  
"Oh." Paul glanced at Daryl a little nervously, "I- yeah. I can stay a couple days." Daryl's hand covered Jesus's under the table, twining their fingers together reassuringly and Jesus felt himself relax again.  
  
"Good." Rick nodded curtly, the matter settled, "Daryl, why don't you two get cleaned up and try to get some rest - you're on graveyard."  
  
Jesus could feel the sweat drying uncomfortably on the back of his neck as they spoke, a shower would be fucking _glorious_ right now. Rick went on, quickly rearranging the patrol schedule and increasing the guard shifts. The meeting disbanded and everyone went their separate ways, each with their own task to complete. Jesus couldn't help feeling a little guilty knowing his 'task' was to shower and take a nap while everyone else had real jobs to do. But the feeling faded quickly as he followed Daryl through his front door and the hunter grabbed him by the collar, shoving the smaller man against the wall. Jesus didn't miss the hungry gleam in Daryl's eye just before the hunter dove to capture his mouth. The kiss went straight to hot and dirty, teeth and tongue, panting little grunts as their bodies rolled together with a violent sort of grace.  
  
"C'mon Rovia, let's take that shower." Daryl growled, sucking at a salty patch of Jesus's throat, hands already yanking at the younger man's belt, "We got orders."  
  
Jesus kicked off his boots, gripping Daryl's shoulder for balance, "Guess we have no choice then."  
  
  
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Daryl broke their frantic, stumbling kiss to turn on the water, running it lukewarm. Jesus was rooting through the medicine cabinet and drawers, reminding the hunter quite strongly of a raccoon getting into a garbage bin.  
  
"Whatcha doin'?" The hunter slid his hands over Jesus's naked waist, pressing up against the younger man's ass, sliding his already achingly stiff cock between those lean thighs. His body was still thrumming with adrenaline from his earlier close-call and the hunter desperately needed to relieve some pent-up energy.  
  
Jesus groaned softly, leaning back into the hunter's chest, angling his head to catch Daryl's mouth in a fevered kiss. "Lookin' for some damn lube, babe."  
  
Daryl chuckled gruffly against Jesus's neck, "I got a couple things in the shower, c'mon."  
  
The younger man twisted to face the hunter, wide grin in place, "Thank fuck, I was getting worried."  
  
The pair slid under the cool stream of water, bodies instantly slick as the sweat was rinsed from their heated skin. With a bar of soap, Daryl smoothed his work-roughened palms down Rovia's wet skin, gliding over lean back muscles to cup the recruiter's ass. Daryl squeezed Jesus's ass playfully then his fingers dipped between the firm cheeks, grazing over his rim. Jesus gasped, ankles turning outward automatically, spreading his legs slightly. Daryl grinned, his gaze traveling over Jesus's wet frame. The younger man's long hair was plastered to his bearded cheeks, darkened from the water, eyes bright blue in contrast. The hunter was constantly thrown off-balance by those eyes; wide and expressive, their jewel-bright hue shifting to match their surroundings. Right now those eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide with lust as Daryl brushed his finger across his entrance. Daryl circled the tight ring of muscle tauntingly as Jesus arched into the touch, pushing his ass back, chasing the teasing pressure of Daryl's long middle finger.  
  
"Ah fuck Daryl.." Jesus whined, biting down on his lip, "God, I want you inside me..."  
  
Daryl spun Jesus around with strong hands, gesturing at the sunken shelf, "Take y' pick, I got baby oil or Vaseline." He couldn't resist pressing the tip of his aching cock where his finger had just been, eager to push inside the tight heat.  
  
Jesus tilted his head back with a moan, letting the head of Daryl's thick cock push in slightly, savoring the faint burn. He groped blindly on the shelf, choosing the first bottle his fingers fell upon. "Baby oil it is, then." he whispered, twisting the lid off quickly. The oil squeezed over his palm and splashed onto the wall in his haste, then he was reaching back to push two fingers inside himself.  
  
"Shit, that's fuck'n hot.." Daryl eased back a little, stroking his cock slowly as he watched Jesus finger-fuck himself; the younger man's skilled fingers making quick work of the prep that Daryl usually spent far more time on. Jesus leaned forward, gripping the safety bar until his knuckles turned white, little moans and whimpers falling from his parted lips. Soon Daryl could no longer resist gliding his hands over Jesus's bare skin again, fingers sliding alongside the recruiter's. Slicking his hand on the oil dripping down Jesus's thighs, Daryl pushed his own finger in beside Jesus's, instantly grazing the younger man's prostate.   
  
" _Fuck yesss!!"_ Jesus hissed, knees nearly buckling at the sudden fullness, "Fuck me Daryl, please, god I want your cock baby."  
  
Daryl pumped his finger in and out several times, syncing his movements with Jesus's own rhythm until the pleading gasps turned into ragged moans. They slid their fingers out in unison and Daryl reached for the open bottle, slicking the oil thoroughly over his shaft before lining up with Jesus's tempting entrance. Daryl gripped his cock at the base, pressing the tip into that slippery heat. Jesus whimpered, shoving back, trying to take Daryl's entire shaft in one quick thrust but Daryl caught a fistful of wet hair, holding him off.  
  
"Quit movin'." the hunter warned. Jesus stilled immediately and Daryl relaxed his grip, smoothing the tangled locks gently, "I'll fuck ya when I'm ready." Jesus trembled slightly, his thighs quivering in anticipation, but he remained motionless when Daryl continued to press the tip of his cock against the twitching ring of muscle. The hunter circled the soft head of his cock around Jesus's rim maddeningly until Jesus was panting out soft pleas under his breath. The archer pushed in, a little deeper this time and Jesus moaned loudly, head thumping against the shower wall.  
  
"Yes _fuck_ \- please..." Jesus mumbled incoherently, legs spreading even further as he struggled not to push back onto Daryl's teasing cock. "Need you Daryl... want _-fuck-_ want you _.._."  
   
Pumping in and out with short, measured thrusts, Daryl teased Jesus's rim open even more, until the emissary was more than ready to be fucked senseless. Daryl was aching to sink into Jesus's tight ass, but he also loved making the younger man beg for it. The Hilltop recruiter had a famously cocksure attitude, which Daryl found sexy as hell... but the hunter still liked keeping him humble once in a while. Finally, when Jesus had begun clawing desperately at Daryl's hip, the hunter relented.  
  
"Alright babe, I'll give y' what ya want.." Daryl promised quietly. Drawing out until he was poised just at the entrance, Daryl laid a soft kiss on Jesus's clean, wet skin then gripped those narrow hips and thrust once, sinking all the way into the hot, wet depth of Jesus's body in one perfect stroke.  
  
This time, Jesus's knees _did_ buckle but Daryl's powerful grip held him upright until he managed to find his feet again. Daryl felt a a hot wave of pleasure as Jesus's body gripped his cock, surrounding him with velvety warm slickness. Daryl began to thrust, smooth and steady, driving deeper with each stroke. The hunter angled his thrusts just right; the head of his shaft skittered across Jesus's sweet spot with every movement. Daryl muffled a groan as he sank in, each controlled stroke of his cock driving them both mad with pleasure.  
  
"Feels so fucking good Daryl, _oh fuck_ baby don't stop," Jesus clutched the rail, muscles rippling under glistening skin as the water beaded off his back. The recruiter arched, pressing back to meet each thrust of Daryl's hips, harsh little pants tearing from his throat with each impact.  
  
Maintaining that measured tempo while Jesus was quietly begging for  _more-faster-harder-please_ quickly was nearly impossible and soon Daryl was gripping Jesus's lean hips, slamming into him roughly. Bruising fingers dug into Jesus's pale skin, dragging him back to meet each thrust. Jesus slapped a palm onto the smooth white wall, shoving himself backwards with a strangled groan. He was getting close. His cock was aching with need, swaying between his thighs each time Daryl's hard shaft slid home. Jesus wanted to wrap a fist around his shaft but each time Daryl slammed into his ass the recruiter was forced to clutch at the wall to stay upright. Jesus bit into the smooth wet skin of his own bicep to muffle his desperate cries of need. The hunter must have sensed his desperation because he slowed his thrusts just enough for Jesus to catch his breath.  
  
"You're so fuckin' hot.. Gonna come for me?" Daryl leaned in close, pressing kisses onto wet skin, "Come, baby," The hunter loosened his hold on Jesus's hip, wrapping a strong fist around the younger man's painfully hard shaft. Jesus groaned in relief, "So fuck'n hard, God you're sexy... C'mon babe, show me how fuckin' hard you can come on my cock..."  
  
Jesus dropped his head forward against the wall, barely catching himself as his orgasm overtook him. Every nerve in his body lit up, flaring brightly as his cock throbbed in Daryl's fist, pumping out a thick load of come onto the cool white tile. Locking his knees, Jesus pushed back onto Daryl's shaft, taking it deep. The hunter growled, the sound vibrating through the damp air as he redoubled his efforts. Each thrust caught Jesus by surprise, nearly knocking him face-first into the wall but Daryl wasn't slowing down for anything. Daryl caught the younger man's hair in a crushing grip, yanking him upright, pulling him against the hunter's powerful chest. Daryl covered Jesus's lips with his own, driving his thick shaft deep as he finished. Jesus moaned weakly into the hunter's mouth as Daryl's cock throbbed and pulsed inside him.  
  
"Oh.. oh my god Daryl... that was.." Jesus was still clutching the wall with shaky fingers, panting from the intensity of his climax, "Fuck baby, that was hot."  
  
Daryl eased out carefully and drew Jesus under the water, "Didn't hurt ya, did I?" He was breathless but caught Jesus's gaze determinedly, "I didn' mean t' be so rough on ya."  
  
Jesus chuckled, kissing away the concerned expression, "Not at all babe, I loved it."  
  
"Yeah?" Daryl relaxed, smiling a little as he looped his arms around Jesus, "It was pretty damn hot. Never heard y' beg like that b'fore."  
  
"Never been fucked like that before." Jesus replied cheekily, reaching past Daryl to capture the abandoned soap, "The student has become the master."  
  
"Never thought I'd be bangin' a teacher," Daryl grinned as Jesus lathered his chest, bubbles running down his pale stomach, "Specially not one as hot as you..."  
  
"Well, I think you just earned yourself an A plus." Jesus leaned up on tiptoes to catch Daryl in a slow kiss, sliding the bar of soap lazily across Daryl's shoulders and back. The pair took their time cleaning off, kneading the soreness from each others muscles. Eventually the cool water began to feel chilly and they got out reluctantly, drying themselves thoroughly before crawling into bed. The freshly washed sheets felt fantastic on their clean skin, acting like a sleeping potion despite the late afternoon sunshine pouring through the window. Jesus curled up against Daryl's side, hooking a leg across the hunter's bare thighs.  
  
"Night Daryl," Jesus whispered, pressing his lips into the curve of Daryl's throat, "Have a good sleep."  
  
"Mmm," Daryl tried answering but was too sleepy to form a proper response; his eyelids were too heavy and his limbs seemed to be melting into the soft mattress. "G'nigh.."  
  
  
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A quiet tapping woke Daryl from the peaceful sway of his dreams. The hunter grumbled at the sound and Jesus murmured sleepily, nuzzling into Daryl's broad chest. If only they could shut out the world and ignore reality for just a few more hours... Eventually, Daryl slid himself out from beneath Jesus's comforting weight and clicked on the light - to Jesus's displeasure. There was another, slightly louder tap on the door.  
  
"Yeah, s'open." the hunter grunted, buttoning his jeans quickly.  
  
Daryl was pulling on his vest and Jesus was still partially burrowed in the white pillows when Carol let herself in cautiously, "Hey Daryl.. Jesus." She nodded to each of them without making eye contact. "Glad you both made it home safe."  
  
Jesus cracked an eye open and flashed her a winning smile. "We always do."  
  
"Sorry to wake you," Carol tried to return the smile, but the expression looked strained, "Your shift starts in an hour, I've left some dinner on the table for you."  
  
"Thank you, Carol," Jesus offered, finally managing to sit up, sheets pooling around his waist as he did, "I don't know if I could eat another fire-roasted squirrel with beans."  
  
"Shut up, you love my cookin'," Daryl sniped back, tossing a sock at the younger man's head, "Thanks Carol, y' didn't have t' do that. Ya need rest." Daryl's teasing tone shifted to concern as he saw the barely-concealed pain in the older woman's eyes, "See y' tomorrow, a'ight?"  
  
"I'm sure you'll both be busy, but I would like that.. if you can manage it." Carol nodded, letting herself out quietly.  
  
Daryl frowned at the closed door; He knew something was bothering his friend but couldn't place the source of her recent melancholy demeanor. Daryl had attributed it to Carol being distraught over Sam's death. Another child she had bonded with was gone... It couldn't be easy for her, to lose her own child and then so many others since. Daryl wished he were a better friend, better with words. Maybe he could help her somehow.  
  
"Daryl?" the soft query interrupted Daryl's train of thought, "Is everything okay?"  
  
"Yeah," Daryl sat on the edge of the bed, placing his hand on Jesus's knee, "Just.. Carol. Somethin's up, dunno what it is." Daryl sighed, "Dunno how t' ask 'bout it though."  
  
Jesus shifted closer, pressing a kiss to the hunter's bare shoulder, "Just ask. She's your friend. If something is bothering her, maybe all she needs is someone to talk to."  
  
"Ain't much of a talker." Daryl muttered, looping an arm around Rovia's lean waist. Jesus was warm and soft and _god_ Daryl just wanted to slide under the covers with him again.  
  
"Then just listen." Jesus whispered, leaning in to capture Daryl's lips before he could utter another excuse. The hunter groaned, twisting on the bed until he had pressed Jesus back into the pillows. Sliding between the younger man's legs, Daryl could feel the heat of his skin through the thin sheet and he couldn't resist thrusting once. Twice. Jesus moaned, eagerly meeting each press of Daryl's hips.  
  
"Fuck babe..." Daryl breathed, already half-hard and ready to tear that sheet away so he could sink into Jesus's slick hot body again, "Want you.. Wish we could stay here all night."  
  
"Me too," Jesus agreed, equally breathless, his hips twitching and grinding up into Daryl's body, driving the hunter to distraction, "We'll have to make it quick."  
  
Daryl made a sound halfway between a growl and a moan, then he was pulling open his jeans, dragging the sheet aside so he could thrust into Jesus's slick heat. The hunter spit in his palm and wrapped it around Jesus's cock, jerking the recruiter hard and fast; matching his own hurried pace. Every deep thrust wrenched a sharp moaning yelp from the emissary's lips. Jesus dragged a pillow over his face, biting down on the soft cotton to drown his writhing screams. Daryl fucked the younger man into the mattress, gripping the sheets with white-knuckled fists, slamming in deeper and harder with each stroke. Daryl did something with his thumb, squeezing and slipping over the sensitive head and Jesus came with a muffled yell, splashing white all over Daryl's fist and their stomachs. Daryl continued to pump into him as Jesus's body tightened and throbbed around the hunter's cock. Finally Jesus stopped twitching, his loud moans fading to feeble whimpers; body going limp with satisfaction. Daryl thrust once more, deeper than ever and then he was coming too, pulsing out a thick load into Jesus's velvet-tight body.  
  
"Holy.. fuck.." Daryl collapsed heavily onto Jesus's chest, panting from the short but intense burst of activity, "Think'n we might.. might need another shower.."  
  
Jesus laughed lightly, "Since when does a little sweat bother you?"  
  
"It don't," Daryl admitted, rolling off the younger man, laying on his back, "But we're gon' smell like come all night if we don't."  
  
"Its a risk I'm willing to take." Jesus smirked, heading to the bathroom to find a washcloth, "We better hurry up if we want to eat before our shift."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set between/during episodes 14-15 (Twice As far, East).

Jesus was away when it happened. Just when Daryl needed him most, Jesus couldn't be there for him.   
  
Daryl stared unseeing over the wall, the image of Denise's face burned into his retinas - the bolt from his own crossbow protruding from her eye socket. _His crossbow._ His fault. He had got himself captured. He let them live - hell, he had _helped_ them. And now, because he was soft, Denise was dead. He might as well have pulled the goddamn shot himself. Fucking stupid, weak piece of shit - helping that fucking dickbag. Shoulda fucking killed all three of 'em. Merle was right, he was too damn soft for this world.  
  
"FUCK!" Daryl leapt to his feet with a snarl, nearly missing half the rungs as he scrambled down the ladder. He stormed up to the gate where Eugene was standing guard, "Open the gate. I gotta get the hell outta here."  
  
"I'm afraid I cannot authorize any unapproved ventures beyond the wall under the present circumstances, Mr. Dixon." Eugene looked nervous but stood firm, gripping his AK tightly, "You'll have to clear any excursions with Rick."  
  
Daryl glowered at the socially-inept gatekeeper, snarling low and dangerous, " _Let_. _Me_. _Out._ "  
  
"Daryl, I fully appreciate that you are in a state of emotional distress due to the untimely loss of our fellow compatriot," Eugene didn't try to reach out and comfort Daryl, for which the hunter was silently glad, but his eyes did soften, "However, I will not have your demise on my conscience. I will not stand aside; if you want to desert your post, you'll have to dispatch me first."  
  
"Don't fuckin' tempt me." Daryl threatened. He considered that option for a moment, but dismissed it. Eugene was good people and useful to boot. Hell, his plan for making their own ammo was a bigger contribution to the group than Daryl had ever made. If anyone deserved to die it was Daryl Dixon, dumbass of the year. The only thing he was good at was occasionally killing people and somehow he couldn't even get that right anymore. Daryl finally jerked a nod in Eugene's general direction and strode away quickly, blood simmering in his veins. It didn't matter what anyone told him, he knew that Denise would be alive if he had made the right call.   
  
He wished Jesus were here. He would know what to say.   
  
Daryl was still cursing himself for not going on the three day run with his... well, with Jesus and the others. He'd been a fool not to go, especially with the Saviors out there. Daryl ought to have spent every available moment with Jesus. Despite knowing the risks, Daryl had chosen to stay behind so he could protect his friends. The hunter snorted and dug out a cigarette. _Protect_. Yeah, he'd done a real bang up job of that. And now he didn't know where Jesus was, whether he was okay, if he was dead or a prisoner or on his way home already.   
  
But the Saviors were out there.   
  
That was one thing that Daryl knew for certain. They were out there and as long as they were out there the people Daryl loved were in danger. Daryl took a deep drag on his smoke, letting the heat of it sear his throat and fill his lungs. The relief he was expecting didn't come. That tense, anxious, jittery feeling wasn't soothed away in a flood of nicotene-laced clarity.   
  
But one thing was becoming clear - he could end this. Just him.   
  
The Saviors - Negan, whoever he was - they wanted Daryl. Daryl was the one who fucked up their biker gang. He was the one who stole the fuel truck. He was on the front lines of the bunker attack. Maybe, just maybe, if they had him they would leave the rest of Alexandria alone. He could find them, kill as many of those fuckers as possible - starting with Dwight - and then give himself up as a consolation prize. Daryl's fingers shook as he raised the cigarette for another drag. It was a stupid plan.   
  
Right?   
  
Wouldn't it be worth it to see Dwight's fucking head on a stick? If he played it right, good and stealthy like the old days, he might be able to take out twenty of them before he was killed or captured. That would mean twenty less for Rick to deal with. Twenty less assholes to worry about. No matter how many goons this Negan-asshole had, losing that many guns would hurt. So what if Daryl didn't make it home? He was one guy. Daryl may not have excelled at math but those seemed like pretty good odds to him.   
  
  
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Daryl headed back to his place to prepare. He packed his crossbow and every spare bolt he could scrounge up, both homemade and salvaged, along with as many knives as he could strap to his person. The plan was guerilla warfare; stealth attacks and silent kills. He tucked a single handgun into his belt, for the final showdown. A shard of fear caught him low in the belly, icelike and cruel. He looked around his sparsely furnished home with a sense of finality. It wasn't much, but it was the best place he had ever lived his entire life. His sad gaze fell on the faded leather couch, recalling dully the last evening before Jesus had left on his run. It had been a boring, ordinary "couples' night". Just watching a movie and talking; leaning on each other in a comfortable, easy embrace. The hunter's eyes stung with unshed tears. If he had known that would be their last night together. . . he wouldn't have changed a thing. It was perfect. Jesus was perfect.   
  
Daryl swiped the wetness from his cheeks and rifled through the desk by the door. He was sure he had seen a pen in there once. Finally locating it, the hunter sat down with a blank page torn from the back of a book and stared at the paper. Daryl knew he had to explain himself, he had to tell Jesus _why_ he had to do this. He had to say goodbye.  
  
And tell Jesus that he loved him.   
  
Pen fell to paper and words began pouring onto the page of their own accord. If these were the last words Jesus would ever hear from him then he had better make them count. Daryl folded the note tightly and tried to decide where to hide it, that only Jesus would find. Finally he settled on tucking it into The Two Towers dvd case. That was the last movie they had watched together, the dvd was still in the machine. Maybe Jesus would find it when he went to put the movie away. It was hardly foolproof but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.  
  
The last thing Daryl did was top up his etched pewter flask, taking a swig of fiery whiskey to burn away the fear that was growing in his chest. Daryl tucked the priceless memento inside his leather jacket. The cool metal felt like a brand on his skin, a reminder of who he was fighting for.   
  



	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesus' POV. Upon his return, Jesus discovers the remnants of the Savior's many barricades and fears the worst.

The road was blocked.  
  
Jesus approached slowly, facing the towering barricade. The unease that had been clawing at his stomach all day hardened into a leaden brick of fear. He glanced back at the Jeep where his friends were waiting for his reassurance. They had been on a two day run that had turned into four, they were exhausted and eager to get back to Hilltop. Jesus was even more anxious to get back to Alexandria to see Daryl - he couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible had happened. The light was dying and Jesus knew that they had no chance of clearing the highway before nightfall; they would have to circle back and try another route.  
  
"It's no good guys," Jesus announced wearily as he got back in the vehicle, "We're not getting through that mess tonight. We'll have to head back, see if we can find another way."  
  
Crystal slumped in her seat, hands falling from the steering wheel, "I don't know if we have enough fuel to make it home from _here_."  
  
Eduardo was sprawled across the backseat, injured leg raised on a box full of dented cans, "This is our third detour already, every route is blocked. We're dead in the water."  
  
Jesus looked from one to the other; despair was written into the pale lines of their faces. Eduardo had sprained his knee pretty badly. If they got stranded out here at night, they would be well and truly fucked. Jesus hated being in charge, he hated having people look to him for answers - it was just too much fucking pressure. That's why he preferred lone missions. That's why he left Gregory in charge of Hilltop. It was pretty cowardly of him, Jesus knew it, but he'd rather be a supporting member than a leader any day.  
  
"The way I see it, we've got two choices then." Jesus pulled off his grey beanie, tossing it on the dash, "We can try heading back and take the eastern route. Or we can off-road it through the forest - this is a Jeep after all, its designed for this kind of thing."  
  
Crystal cringed, her gaze darting nervously to the darkened woods, "What if we get stuck out there, in the middle of the fucking forest?"  
  
"Probably be safer in there than out here in the open." Eddie piped up from the back, "We don't have the fuel to try the east trail."  
  
"We only need to make it around this barricade, then its a straight shot home guys. We got this." Jesus tried to sound more confident than he felt.  
  
Crystal groaned, throwing her hands up in surrender, "Fine... Fine. But I'm not driving - if we get stuck, someone else can take the heat."  
  
"Fair enough." Jesus agreed.  
  
  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
It took far longer to find a clear enough path through the densely grown trees than Jesus had hoped and after at least forty-five agonizing minutes of cautious navigation the trio finally rolled up onto the blacktop again. Jesus cut the engine with a sigh of relief, jumping out to remove a large branch that had wedged itself in the wheel well. His companions had nodded off twenty minutes ago while he was trying to work his way around a particularly obnoxious stump.  
  
Jesus tugged the branch loose with a grunt and threw it aside lazily. Just as he was climbing back into his seat, an odd sound assaulted his ears. It was... whistling. A spine-chilling, repetitive tune that filtered through the blackness. Staring hard into the gloom, Jesus thought he could see a faint reddish glow deep in the trees. Jesus leaned across the cab to nudge Crystal, shushing her as she startled awake.  
  
"Shh, hey, its me." Jesus was already tucking a gun into his belt and strapping a short machete to his waist, "You and Eddie need to get home right now - don't wake him, he needs rest."  
  
"Whoa, wai- what?" she scrambled upright, rubbing sleep from her eyes, "What are you talking about, where are you going?"  
  
"There's something going on out there, someone else is in these woods and I've got a feeling they're not friendly." Jesus's casual tone belied the tension in his movements.  
  
"So you're going out _looking_ for them, are you crazy?" Crystal grabbed his wrist, frowning, "Come back with us, Paul. Hilltop needs you."  
  
"I've made this trip on foot more times than I can count, I'll be fine. 'Sides, if I don't find out what's going on, Gregory will chew my ass off." Jesus tossed the keys into her lap, "Go home, get some rest. I'll see you in the morning."  
  
Whistling filled the air again as the cherry-red brake lights disappeared around the bend, leaving Rovia alone in the hostile darkness. Jesus shivered in the chilly forest air, goosebumps erupting all over his skin; but was that from the cold... or from the hair-raising sound of dozens of voices whistling in unison?

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
  
Jesus crept ghostlike toward the crowded clearing, heart in his throat.  
  
The warriors of Alexandria, his friends and allies, had been brought to their knees. From his shadowy vantage point, Jesus couldn't see any of the prisoners' faces, but he recognized each figure silhouetted against the flames. Rick, of course, was front and center. The steely eyed leader was shaking with rage and terror as the spokesman waved his wire-crowned bat in Carl's face. Maggie was shivering, bowed in agony, sweat gleaming on her pale throat - even from this angle, Jesus knew that something was horribly wrong. Eugene, with his signature mullet was easily identified, as was Abraham, whose red-gold hair gleamed in the firelight. Glenn was struggling more than any of them, edging determinedly toward his wife, despite the deadly warning from the leather-clad villain.  
  
But Jesus's eyes were drawn inexorably toward the shaggy-haired figure in the torn biker jacket.  
  
Daryl.  
  
The hunter was hunched forward, favoring his left side, but Jesus could feel the waves of pure rage radiating from Daryl's clenched fists and trembling shoulders. With effort, Jesus tore his gaze away from Daryl and focused instead on how to get them out of this mess. It was a daunting task. Each prisoner was disarmed and thoroughly bound, but even if they weren't. . . They were out numbered six to one and all of their captors had a hungry feral look about them. No matter how he looked at the scene, Jesus knew there was no possible way to rescue his friends. Not without risking all of their lives and his own.  
  
"Eeny."  
  
Paul "Jesus" Rovia snarled low in his throat as the self-proclaimed Negan, began taunting each member of the Alexandrian community. The innocent childhood chant took on a sinister, bone-chilling cast when uttered by the grinning fiend.  
  
"Meeny"  
  
Jesus clawed at his waist, drawing the hand gun from his belt and centered it on Negan's sleek dark head. Just one bullet, that's all it would take.  
  
"Miney"  
  
Fingers flexed instinctively on the carbon-grip as Negan paused in front of Daryl. _Don't pull it, don't pull it, don't. There's too many, its too risky, don't do it._  
  
"Moe."  
  
Negan cocked his head inquisitively, his charming yet twisted smile directed at the person Jesus cared about more than anyone on this wasted mockery of Earth.  
  
"Catch a tiger, by his toe.."  
  
Daryl ducked his head, forcing his eyes away from Negan's challenging stare.  
  
"If he hollers, let him go."  
  
Negan finally shifted along the line, away from Daryl.  
  
"My mother said-"  
  
Negan strolled up to the next blood-smeared figure in the line-up.  
  
"To pick the very best one..."  
  
Jesus breath froze as the barbed end of Negan's weapon rested almost tenderly on Glenn's forehead.  
  
"And you."  
  
Maggie was whimpering, nearly folded double as she clutched her abdomen.  
  
"Are."  
  
Negan stopped pacing, his victim chosen at last.  
  
"It."  
  
  
_No. No no no.. I can't watch this..  
  
_  
"Anybody moves, anybody says anything, cut the boy's other eye out and feed it to his father and then we'll continue." Negan's smile was nauseating, "You can breathe. You can blink. You can cry. Hell, you're all gonna be doing that." _  
  
_ Jesus stared in frozen horror as the bat raised high in the air - _No, its a dream, its just a fucked up, horrible dream, wake up. WAKE UP!_  
  
The bat hissed as it fell, air whistling between the twisted barbs.  
  
Jesus heard himself crying out, his own strangled yell buried beneath the screams of his friends. His family.  
  
  
  
It wasn't a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well folks, I'm afraid that's all for now - I'll be continuing this (and tying up some loose ends) in October when my theories are confirmed.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, its been a pleasure and as always, your comments and critiques are very appreciated.


End file.
